Fragile
by amberpire
Summary: It's almost terrifying how easily they'll fall apart without each other. ;Sam/Carly;
1. Chapter 1

**_|Sam|_**

I feel like I just got hit by a baseball bat. Or a train. The foggy Seattle air feels thick and heavy in my lungs when I draw it in, an unsteady hand raising to touch the back of my head. I wince as the painfully tender skin screams in protest, my knees buckling beneath me. Concrete meets my knees with a slam, the jolt making my head wobble like it's barely connected to my neck and my ears make a brilliant ringing noise. I slump, my back meeting the wall of my apartment building. Everything's spinning, but not in the fun, drunk kind of way - the nauseating, brain damage kind of way. I blink furiously but it's like my eyes can't stay in one spot, the street twisting and swirling all around me.

"Fuck." I don't even really think about saying the word, it just crushes out of my lips like a reflex; an instinct. I lower my hand then, the limb swimming in front of me until I start to focus. The tips of my fingers are a dark red that's almost black, eerily illuminated by the orange streetlight above me. I take a deep breath, or try to - it breaks into pieces before I absorb much, my limbs sprawling across the sidewalk.

I try closing my eyes, but the darkness provides no safety, no peace, and it makes me even dizzier. I pull them open again and gaze at the mailbox across the street. Or, well, try to watch the mailbox across the street. It keeps moving. I figure this can't last too much longer, and if I just sit here and breathe for a little bit I'll be able to stand up again. In and out, Sam, I tell myself. In and out. If my lungs are still working, and my brain is still having thoughts, then that probably means I'm not going to die, or lose half my IQ. In and out. I can feel the blood dribbling down the back of my neck, hot and slick. I reach up gingerly and touch it again, wincing. Shit, there's glass in there. "Fuck," I repeat. My injured brain apparently can't come up with much else.

The sidewalk is damp on my jeans. My butt is cold. My legs are cold. Everything's cold. This sucks on so many levels I can't even begin to explain. With a groan, I tilt my head up, my eyes struggling to focus on the black, Seattle night sky, but even that's too blurry to be beautiful like it usually is. It bugs me all of the sudden that there aren't any stars; I can't see any of them. Not a tiny speck of light. Just the orange streetlamp, the hum traffic on the next block, and the pounding of my heart in my ears. Fuck this. Fuck this so hard. I didn't even _do _anything this time. Since when has Mom ever cared about what I do? All of the sudden she happens to see a letter from the school on the table and is offended by the C I have in Geometry. A _C_, mind you. That's passing. That's better than I usually do. She took it up in her gnarled hands and shook it in front of my nose and screamed at me until her lips were blue about how I'm a failure, how I'm nothing like Melanie.

My lips tighten. Fucking Melanie. I mean, I love her, I guess. I never see her, I don't even really know her ... she's just this girl that everyone admires, everyone loves. Melanie's the good twin, the nice twin, the twin that gets As, probably the only Puckett that hasn't been arrested at some point. I'd never admit that I'm jealous of her - not for her smarts or her reputation, but she doesn't have to live here with this monster I call Mom. Melanie doesn't have to worry about her own mother breaking a vodka bottle over her head. She doesn't have to lock her door at night so the same woman doesn't sneek in and try to steal what little money I do have. Melanie's lucky and I guess I'm happy for her, but Jesus, I'd kill to be her for a day.

Well, maybe not. Melanie might have a fancy school and a future full of ... math, or whatever it is Mel's good at, but I've got one thing she doesn't have. I've got Carly Shay. She fills my head like cotton candy, sweet and fluffy and full, and I smile faintly, probably even stupidly, but I blame that entirely on the blood loss. I wouldn't trade Carly for anything - not for a sober mom, a report card full of As, a future with no obstacles. Hell, I'd give up what shit I do have if it meant keeping her.

I must get all sappy and weird when I'm draining out of the back of my head. I didn't expect that, though I must admit, vodka bottles don't come into such harsh contact with my brain very often. My numb fingers search for my pocket, a frown coming to my lips then. I know what I have to do, but I really don't want to. I love Carly, but I hate having to rely on her, on anyone. I hate not being able to take care of things myself. I should just go back inside, lock myself in my room and let my mom scream herself into a booze-induced sleep. I've done it before. But I'm just so tired of it. I'm tired of plucking beer cans out of the couch cushions and I'm tired of her waking up instantly pissed off at me for just existing and I'm tired of being here, of living in this place. I don't want to do it anymore. I just want Carly, and I honestly don't even care if that's selfish of me, I want her here. I want her to wipe the blood from my hair and put me in her bed. Carly's the only one who gets to see soft, vulnerable Sam. Everyone else gets my fist in their nose if they even suggest I feel anything other than awesome.

Carly, though, she sees all these other sides of me that no one else gets to. Mostly because I know she won't hold them against me, or try to use them to her advantage. Carly's not like other people - I'd even go so far to say she's not of the human species. Everyone's so petty and dishonest, and then there's Carly. Sweet, kind little Carly, with a heart too big for her chest. Even though she knows I'm not the best influence, and I make shitty decisions, and I do shitty things, she's never once pushed me away. And that ... I love that. I love her for that. And I love that after my mom breaks a glass bottle over my head, I have a place to go.

With much fumbling on my part, I manage to pull out my phone. The screen swims, but I eventually get to my contacts and dial her number. The phone barely reaches my ear, the ringing distant and muffled. Suddenly, the mailbox across the street isn't so clear; actually, its' really far away, and blurry around the edges, and fuck me, I can't pass out. The creepy old man in apartment 3B will find me out here and do God knows what to my unconscious body.

"Hello?"

I take in a breath with the intention to form words, a sentence, anything, but all that comes out is, "Mm."

"Sam?" There's rustling on the other end. Even in that one word, that one little syllable, I can hear the fear in her voice, the anxiety, the worry. I frown at the receiver when something black starts crawling over my vision. That's not good.

"Sam? Are you there?"

"Cup..." I cough and my strength leaves me, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. They fall closed like blinds, the phone dangling in my bloody fingertips. "... cake ..."

"I'm coming, Sam! Stay awake!"

That sounds like a good idea. I should probably do that. I really should. I should ...

* * *

**A/N:** _I see you there, reading my story. Which means you're reading this. Which means you're literate. Good for you! That also means you are capable of leaving a review, and you know how much I love reviews. Reviews can be your little Halloween gift to me; little pieces of candy for my ego. _

_As you can see, the chapters will be alternating points of view, the next being Carly's. I have three chapters for this story already written, so if you guys enjoy it, I'll be posting the next chapter as soon as you want it! But don't forget that reviewing part. My ego, you know, it craves inflating. Also, this is rated M for further chapters I have planned. What's a multi-chaptered Cam without some smut, am I right?_


	2. Chapter 2

_**|Carly|**_

I don't swear. It makes me feel dirty when I do, but Spencer's less-than-satisfactory jogging behind me is making me almost explode with profanities. It's dark and it looks like it's about to rain and I have to get to Sam, I have to get to Sam _now_, and I don't have time for this. I slam into Spencer's car, ripping open the door and throwing my head behind me to see him picking up his feet, keys dangling in his hands.

I bite back a curse, falling heavily into the car. "Come on!" I open my phone and glare at the screen, furiously punching in Sam's number and pressing it to my ear again as Spencer climbs in beside me, fumbling with the keys. The phone rings, over and over again as the car growls to life and we swing into traffic, Spencer's hands tight on the wheel. His eyes jerk between the road and me and no one is answering, Sam's not picking up. I have to take a deep, shuddering breath to keep myself from bursting into hysterics - now is not the time to panic. I don't know where Sam is, or what happened to her, but she doesn't just call out of nowhere and sound so weak like she did, like she was falling asleep.

"Go to her apartment, she can't be far." I clutch Spencer's shoulder as he drives, partly because I feel like I'm going to fall into a thousand pieces if I don't, and Spencer's oddly calm in situations like this. This isn't the first time we've had to pick up Sam from her mom's, but it's the first time my heart felt like it was pumping ice into my veins. I mean, I've always known Sam's mom is drunk more often than she isn't, and I know they get into fights ... but Sam sounded like she was falling unconscious or something, and to take someone like Sam down ... I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about anything other than finding her safe somewhere.

I almost lose it when we're stalled at a red light, holding my forehead. I can even tell Spencer's doing his best not to blow as the seconds tick by and we're still not moving. In movies, in something dramatic like this, there's a lot of angry music pumping you up, but it's so much more stressful when all you hear is silence; the car humming, a horn down the street. It's just so quiet, too quiet, and we're standing still too long and these lights obviously don't understand that I have someone waiting for me, that I have someone to save.

As soon as there's a hint of green, Spencer's sailing down the street again. I keep dialing her number, over and over, and get clicked over the voicemail. I press my phone to my mouth and breathe against it. In and out, Carly. In and out. But it's so hard to breathe, it's so hard to function knowing Sam's hurt - Sam's ... she's my best friend, she's everything, and maybe people don't understand why I've chosen a delinquent for a best friend but that was never the point. When it comes to Sam, I never cared about what people said about us, or what they might think of me. I know Sam, I know every part of her, even the parts no one else sees; _especially _the parts no one else sees. They don't know how kind she really is, how smart she is, how wise she is, and they certainly don't understand the crap she puts up with her mom.

"She's fine, kiddo. She's fine."

I turn to look at my brother, his profile tight and determined and I don't really feel like those words were directed to me. I touch his shoulder again, the other hand still holding my phone to my ear.

_Sam's the name, ham's the game. Leave a message._

I end the call again and twist toward the window. Spencer speeds, barely making it through another yellow light. Each block means I'm closer to Sam, I tell myself calmly, my lips against the phone. Breathe. Sam's okay. Sam has to be okay, because nothing terrible can happen to her. She's indestructible and I need her, I need her more than I need a lot of things. I don't look up until I feel the familiar bump as we turn onto Sam's street, my body pushing against the window. I search wildly for the button and stick my head out as it lowers, another surge of panic seizing me as I spot a slumped shape in front of the red bricked building, washed in orange light.

"Sam!" I forget trying to stay calm, ripping open the door despite Spencer trying to uselessly stop me. I run the rest of the way, my feet slamming hard against the sidewalk until I skin to her side, my knees scraping against the concrete. The sting of that doesn't even register with me; Sam's bleeding. The back of her hair looks black, the blood soaking her shoulders. Her head is tilted down, chin against her chest, eyes closed. "Sam!" My voice breaks in my panic, reaching up to touch her cheeks with my hands. Her skin twitches beneath me, her head rolling to the side. A wince crosses her face, lips parting in a gasp of pain.

The relief - that she's alive - is short-lived when a grumbling sound of agony vibrates her chest. "Sam? Sam, wake up." I pull her face up, toward me, her face wincing again at the movement. Seeing Sam in any kind of pain makes my heart start to rip. "Open your eyes, Sam, please."

"Is she all right?"

Spencer kneels beside me, his phone out, one hand reaching up to push Sam's bangs away from her forehead. I shake my head at him, giving Sam's cheeks a little pat. "C'mon, Puckett. Open your eyes. Talk to me, Sam, please."

I can see her eyes moving under her lids, shifting back and forth, and then Spencer's talking with the phone to his ear, "I think we need an ambulance ..."

"Sam? Open your eyes for me. I have ham. I have lots of ham for you if you open your eyes."

She releases another tired groan and I feel something wet slide off my chin. Her eyelids struggle, lifting and falling several times before they find the strength to stay open. Her usually brilliant blue eyes are foggy and I don't really know if she's seeing me or not, but they're open and she's looking at me. Her lips fall open and I hold her face in my hands, a hard exhale of relief shattering out of me.

"Sam," I say, running my thumbs under her eyes. She blinks groggily, peering up at me like she's not sure who I am.

"Cupcake?" The word's barely a whisper and I nod, bringing her forehead to mine. Spencer takes Sam's hand and holds it and I listen to the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I don't get angry often, and it's so hard for me to stay mad for very long, but my eyes flick up toward Sam's bedroom window. I hate hating people, but I despise her mother, that, that _monster_ that hurt my Sam. I huff and turn my eyes back to Sam, see her all broken like this and I start to cry again. This is my rock, broken in front of me, bleeding, barely conscious ... it's impossible to imagine someone like Sam falling apart, but she's just as fragile as the rest of us. I forget that sometimes, I forget that she has weaknesses because she walks like she's made of steel. I touch her hair, my stomach rolling when I pull my hand back and see her blood on my fingers. I set my jaw; half of me wants to stay with her, make sure she's okay, while the other wants to stomp up those stairs and, and - I don't know, scream at Sam's mom until, until ...

"Sam, how many fingers am I holding up?" Spencer spreads three fingers in front of her face and I watch her struggle to focus, blinking again.

"Three?" She croaks, wincing slightly as she tries to shift herself. "Fuck."

Spencer pats her leg. "Good."

In the distance is the sound of sirens, growing louder and louder as they draw closer. A flash of red and blue lights bounces off the buildings. I rub Sam's arms, not realizing until then just how cold it is; her arms are freezing, and so are my hands.

"You're going to be okay, Sam. I'm right here, 'kay? I'm right here." Her eyes roll again and I panic, spinning around to watch the ambulance halt in front of us and people seem to spill out of it like a clown car. Before I have a chance to say anything they're pushing Spencer and I out of the way, crowding around Sam. I hover uselessly behind them, watch as Sam's eyes open and close and I hate just standing here and watching them and not being able to do anything. I'm her best friend - I should be able to fix her. They're flashing lights in her eyes, touching the back of her head. A man with a stretcher passes me and they throw her on it like her body's made of straw. The brick wall where she had been leaning sports a red stain.

I watch her as she passes; barely awake, struggling to even find me, but her hand manages to flop over the side of the stretcher and I catch it, squeezing it tightly. The paramedics pause and one of them talks to Spencer but I'm not listening, just looking down at my Sam. Her eyes look a little more solid now, like she's really looking at me. And it's not like she was in any danger of dying now, but still, I can't ... handle Sam getting hurt. It tortures me.

"Thank you," she says, the corners of her lips turning upward before her hand is gone and they move her into the back of the ambulance. I try to follow but I'm quickly pushed back and it takes Spencer's hands on my shoulders to move me to our own car. The ambulance doors slam shut and they're rushing out and I don't like this, I don't like not being with her when she needs me, and I shove Spencer toward the car and climb back in.

I have a place to be.

* * *

**A/N: **_Wow! Thanks so much for the reviews on the first chapter, guys. Today kind of sucked because of a twelve hour long power outage, but seeing all of these reviews totally made my day. So thank you, again._

_I hope the second chapter lived up to the hype for you guys! Please review and let me know what you think._


	3. Chapter 3

_**|Sam|**_

Holy dear Jesus of fuck, these lights are bright. My pupils constrict painfully, a heavy arm raising to block the glare. "Shit," I grumble, sitting up. My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, rolling backwards before I force it forward again. I know where I am. I might have had a concussion or whatever, but I'm not stupid. Other than a throbbing headache, I actually feel leagues better than I did a few hours ago. Or however long I've been in here. I throw my eyes across the room, still adjusting to the light. I catch a clock nearby and blink in surprise to find it's almost one in the afternoon. "Shit," I say again. I'm not a very articulate human being.

And then I see her, slumped in a chair across the room. Her legs are spread and flopped in front of her, her arms crossed over her chest. Dark brown hair tumbles in tangles down her shoulders and I wonder how long she's been here, how long she's been waiting. The dark circles under her eyes suggest she didn't get much sleep and I contemplate waking her, but she looks so tired, and I hate knowing that I stressed her out. Carly freaks when we have a mini quiz in History - I can't imagine what she was like last night. Speaking of which ... I think for a moment, trying to piece things together. I remember the vodka bottle, obviously - that's not something you generally forget - and then I went outside, and called Carly, and then ...

Well, I don't remember an ambulance, but I do faintly remember Carly's face hovering over mine and talking about ham. Food is one of the few things that will bring me back to consciousness, apparently. I remember her telling me to open my eyes and the memory of the fear in her voice, the shake in it and the way it cracked ... it makes my heart twist, knowing I put her through that. And, yeah, it's not like I'm the one who gave myself a concussion, but still. Carly's so ... soft. She can't handle things like I can, but then I wonder, had the situation been reversed, had it been Carly calling me with her head bleeding profusely... I don't like thinking like that, because it scares me knowing that I haven't a clue what I would do if she was ever hurt like that.

I push back the blankets, dipping my bare feet to the floor. The cold from the floor snakes up my feet and I hiss, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. I realize then I'm in a gown. Oh, ew. Ew, someone saw me naked. I shiver, pushing myself to a stand and waddling to the bathroom. I piss like a racehorse and as I'm washing my hands, I try to avoid the mirror - I feel like shit, and that's probably reflecting pretty heavily on my appearance. But I sneak a glance and there I am, and yep, I look like total shit. My hair's one hot mess, my eyes are ringed with red, and my skin is flushed a sickly white color. I make a face at myself, splashing water on my cheeks and trying to get my blood flowing a little bit. But then I just feel dizzy and make my way back to the bed. I didn't even move much and I already feel drained, sighing heavily as I move back under the covers.

I watch Carly from the bed, her chest rising and falling, her body limp with sleep, and I feel ... better. I mean, my head still feels like it's full of a shit and I know I'm going to have to do a whole lot of explaining once the doctors come back in, but she's here and that makes me feel better about the whole thing. She makes getting a concussion totally worth it. She makes everything worth it; every fight with my mom, every bad grade, every brush with the law. And, yeah, I'm a little sappy when it comes to my best friend, but she's all I have. Her and Spencer, they're my family. Carly's my life.

I guess Freddork isn't so bad either, but he's so damn sensitive. He's worse than Carly. He bruises like a peach, the boy can't take a joke to save his life, and he's constantly trying to ... I don't know, _own _Carly or something. I don't think he quite understands that I was Carly's friend first and therefore I have automatic dibs on, well, everything when it comes to her. That totally makes me sound like some jealous boyfriend, but I can't help it. Carly keeps me sane, she ... she fuels me, you know? Keeps me going. Makes me want to get out of bed and deal with my mom every day because it means getting to her.

I'm so lost in my own brain I don't even hear her stir, only tuning back into the present when I hear her shoes on the floor. I twist toward her and there's this soft smile of relief on her face as she moves to the side of my bed. I smile up at her, lifting a hand for her to take. She squeezes it almost painfully but I just let her, her skin warm against mine and more comforting than I can explain.

"Come here often?" I squeeze her hand and relax when she smiles down at me, kneeling slightly to press her cheek to the back of her hand.

"Only when my best friend's head cracks open."

I make a face. "None of my brains fell out, right? I need those."

She smiles, shaking her head slowly. "Nope, no brains. Eight stitches."

"Really?" I beam, my free hand traveling behind my hair. It's sore, and I gasp slightly as I feel the stitches against my fingers, but it feels strangely cool. "Awesome." I turn my eyes back to her and the purple spots under her eyes look even heavier than they did before. "Carls, you look like shit."

She purses her lips at me. "Like you look much better, turd."

I squeeze her hand again. "You should go home, get some sleep. Where's Spence?"

Her eyes close, a tired sigh leaving her. "Nowhere."

I stare at her. "He's not out there paying for this, is he?"

Carly doesn't say anything and I close my eyes, guilt washing over me. God damnit. God fucking damnit. I hate this, I hate not being able to take care of myself. I'm Samantha Puckett, I should be able to handle this. I shouldn't have to crawl to Carly and Spencer for help every time a bottle breaks against the back of my head. "Fuck."

"Sam, it's okay, we don't mind -"

"I do. This is ridiculous, I'm not even _related _to you -"

"Sam -"

" - and you shouldn't have to pay for something my mother did, she's the one that did this -"

"_Sam _-"

" - and you know what it was over? A C on my report card. I usually get pats of congrats when I get C's, and she loses her shit because she's fucking drunk as hell -"

"Sam, your mom left."

I freeze, the hand holding hers going limp. She holds it, keeps it pressed against her chest and I can feel her heart beating against her ribs. I blink slowly, watching her face, watch her chew at her lip nervously. "What?" I'm not sure I heard her right. My mom ...

"Your mom. We can't find her. Your apartment was pretty much cleared out and your car's gone."

I sit up slowly, ignoring the burning in the back of my head. "How do you-"

"The cops." She looks away from me and my heart pounds again. "There were cops here while you were sleeping and I told them it was your mom, and they went to find her and ..." She stops, her eyes squeezing shut, the lines around them creasing before they open again. Brown pools flood with tears and then she's falling on top of me, her wet cheek against mine. The back of my scalp screams but the pain is distant, not important ... I breathe in the scent of Carly's shampoo and let out a long breath.

You'd think I'd, like, freak, hearing that. My mom ran away. She took everything and left. The bitch probably took the hundred dollars I had been saving for Carly's birthday present that I was hiding under my mattress. And, really, I'm more upset about that - I'm more upset about the time my mom chose to leave, and what she probably took with her, more so than her actually leaving.

I reach up and touch Carly's back. "It's okay, Carls. I'm fine."

Her lips are in my hair, still mumbling apologies. A nurse comes in then, stands there and watches us for a moment. Carly freezes, pulling back with a blush of embarrassment, fluttering her hands and apologizing to the nurse as she steps back. I keep my eyes on Carly, my best friend. She's much more beat up about this than I am. The things is, I... I can't even recall a time I actually honestly loved my mom. Losing her isn't losing much. If anything, I won't have to worry about glass shattering over my cranium again. I take another deep breath and turn to the nurse.

"Please tell me you have fried chicken."

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**A/N:** _So, this is the part where I ask for reviews. It is the Holidays, you know. Halloween and all. And, you know, this could be like trick-or-treating, fanfiction style. This chapter is my lovely costume and your reviews are pieces of candy. Everybody wins!  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**_|Carly|_**

I pull Sam's hand into my lap on the way home. Spencer's driving in silence and Sam's head is twisted away from me, but her thumb is running along the length of mine. I watch her face from the side, the tension in her jaw and neck, the way a muscle sometimes flickers in her cheek and I wonder what she's thinking about, what kind of thoughts she's having. I mean, Sam's like my sixth sense - usually I know what's wrong without having to ask, what's bothering her, what to say to make her happy, but this ... this is different, because this is more than just a bad grade she got on an assignment or feeling inadequate next to Melanie or running out of ribs. This is Sam's _mom_, her own _mother_.

We've always been careful around the subject of Sam's mom. We'd talk about it, sometimes, but generally Sam would just sum it up for me in three words; "She's a bitch." And I would agree with her because, well, she was. Is. I frown at the thought, giving Sam's hand a slight squeeze. She turns, glancing down at me. Her blue eyes immediately soften when she looks at me; it's like an instinct to her to be kinder with me, more gentle. I've seen the looks she gives Freddie; icy and sharp, but she's never been like that with me. I'm the exception to Sam's rules. Sam offers a smile, a weak tug of her lips, and then she turns toward the window again, her eyes far away.

I don't let go of her hand until we're in my room. Her fingers slip out of mine and I hover in the doorway as she slides to my bed, falling heavily atop the mattress. She kicks off her shoes and curls into a ball. Strands of dirty blonde hair are tossed all over the bed and I can see the stitches sewn into the back of her head. My heart trembles, my hand raising to touch my chest as I watch Sam's rise and fall with steady breaths.

"Sam?" I step forward carefully, like my room is suddenly a landmine. I perch on the edge of the bed and watch her; her face is frozen, blue eyes locked on something I can't see. I reach out and touch her leg but she doesn't look at me, her chest heaving another heavy breath. I hate seeing her like this; broken. Samantha Puckett is to never be broken. She's ... she's everything I hold dear to me, and if she shatters, I don't know if I'll be able to put her back together again. I'm supposed to be the weak one. It's a role I've gladly accepted because Sam's Sam and she's better at being stronger than I am. She is strong, though; if my mother had ever hit me over the head with a vodka bottle and then vanished, I don't ... I don't even know what I would do.

"You can cry." The suggestion leaves my mouth before I really realize what I'm saying. Her eyes flick toward me in surprise, her blonde brows furrowing to meet over her nose.

"What?"

I look away, into my lap, pulling my hand back to twiddle my thumbs. "Nothing. I just meant that, like, if you wanted to - if you need to -"

"Carly, it's okay. I'm fine." She sits up, a wince crossing her face as she does so, a hand lifting to thread into her hair.

"Ah ah!" I reach out, my fingers wrapping in a tight noose around her wrist and pulling it back. "No touching. That's what the doctor said. You're going to irritate the stitches."

She sticks her tongue at me before twisting her hand; her fingers slide until they're flat against mine and I feel like we're mimicking that scene in Tarzan when Tarzan and Jane are facing each other, trying to figure out what the other one means. Sam's even ... looking at me like she's trying to figure something out, her blue eyes calculating as she studies me. And then her fingers shift and curl, closing around mine and the relief I feel is beyond words. Something about Sam touching me has always made me feel better no matter the circumstances. She's just ... calming, and even though the situation is less than peaceful, that's what I find when she looks at me; peace.

"I'm not going to cry," Sam says, her eyes on our hands. I follow her gaze and marvel at the way our hands just ... fit, and I hate using the cliche puzzle piece analogy but there's a reason it's such a popular metaphor; it just feels like that sometimes, like Sam's my missing piece or something poetic like that. She just snaps, and people spend their life trying to make a puzzle piece that doesn't belong fit by cutting the corners or forcing it inside, but Sam's just easy and simple and is probably the only constant I have in my life. I mean, sure, I have Spencer, and my dad, and Freddie but ... they're not my best friend. Sam has a special place, a kind of superior perch above everything else.

"I would cry." I shift across the bed, moving closer to her while keeping our hands intertwined. I just really don't want to let her go. I want to try and give her at least a sliver of the peace she gives me just by being in the same room.

She sighs, her eyes falling and her eyelashes resting on her cheeks. "You cry when the ASPCA commercial comes on."

"It's sad!"

She laughs, turning her eyes to me again. "You're right. It's sad. _This _isn't. I'm not sad."

I huff at her. I get Sam in the most special of ways, but sometimes there are just things that don't make sense. And I know I haven't been in Sam's shoes my entire life, and I don't know what it feels like to live with someone like Sam's mom, but ... I would like to think I'd be really upset if my mom had just walked out on me, even if she was a total hag. It's Sam's mom, regardless of how terrible she was. Sam lived with her all her life, and, sure, probably more than half of those days were spent fighting over something, but that doesn't change the fact that it's her mom.

Sam's watching me with concern (which, considering the circumstances, doesn't make much sense) and her free hand reaches up, a finger prodding my nose. "You're way more bummed about this than I am."

I frown up at her. "I just ... don't get it. She's your mom."

Sam shakes her head slowly. "She pushed me out of her vagina, but that doesn't make her my mom. She's not my family, Carls. Spencer is. You are. Even -" she gives a slight shudder, "- even Freddie means more to me than that woman."

I sigh, pulling our closed hands to my chest and running my knuckles over the back of her hand. I guess I'll never quite understand the dynamics of Sam's relationship with her mom, how she's not seething with anger or resentment or hysterically sobbing or breaking things. But Sam can handle things like this far better than I can, so maybe it's best that I just leave it be. I like to think that if Sam ever truly needed me to help her, she'd ask. She always has before.

I look at our hands again, or hers, more specifically, my knuckles still brushing over her slightly tanned skin. And then, I don't even think about it, I just bring her hand to my lips and I plant a soft kiss there, on her skin, on her veins. It's weird, but doing it, it ... it made my heart flutter and squeeze and when I look back up at Sam she's watching me with burning curiosity in her eyes, slight apprehension. I look away quickly and smoothly reach for the remote of the TV like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She doesn't let go of my hand and by the time we make it through an episode of _Victorious_, my head is on her shoulder and our legs are tangled and it isn't until then, when I feel her body wrapped in mine and my heart is still seizing in my chest that I begin to wonder if Sam and I are a lot more like Tarzan and Jane than I once thought.

* * *

**A/N:** _Sooo, this story is developing, slowly but surely! I think it's important to make some stories slow, but I promise that eventually, some Cam ~romance~ will come to light. I've got another chapter already written and I am currently working on the one after that one ... I like to be prepared, and I'm trying to not post all the chapters so close together, but I can't help myself._

_You should totally leave a review because they make me super happy and every writer likes to know their work is appreciated. _


	5. Chapter 5

_**|Sam|**_

"Carly, I'll be _fine_. Jesus, I don't even need my mother, you're enough of a worry wart as it is."

She pouts at me, her lower lip thrusting out in an entirely too adorable expression. I reach out and pat her head, my fingers slipping through her dark hair and pulling her into a brief hug. I keep my hold on the back of her head as I talk into her ear. "I'm just going to go get some stuff. I'll be home in a little bit."

She does this weird ... shivery thing when I pull back and find her eyes. Kids are moving around us, sparing glances as they shift down the front stairs of our school. Buses are pulling up, the smell of car exhaust thick in the after school air. I smile at Carly, who shifts her backpack on her shoulder and huffs at me. She knows she can't win. It's not like she's ever been good at trying to talk me out of something I'm really set on doing. I mean, if anyone _could_, it'd be her, but today, I just ... I have to do this. I have to go back to my apartment. It's gonna suck and I'm not particularly looking forward to it, but I don't have a choice. I have to get my shit out of there before my landlord decides to pitch it. I could bring Carly with me, but I'd rather her not see some of the stuff lying around the place. My mom was - is - (I'm having a hard time with the tenses) messy as all hell; that, and there's probably some drugs mixed up in there and Carly is just too sensitive for that kind of thing.

"It'll take me an hour, tops." I reassure her by taking her hand in mine and giving it a short squeeze. We seem to be doing that a lot more often now, the hand holding. Mostly I don't even think about it, and I don't think she does either; we're in sync like that. It's actually kind of scary if I think about it too much. Knowing Carly means so much to me kind of freaks me out a little bit. I just don't give a shit about anyone else much, so all of my good feelings get poured into her. I meet her eyes again, the soft brown that I know so well, and I decide that it's not such a bad thing.

"You sure you don't want me to come?"

"I'll be fine, and you've got homework to do." I reach around her and pat her stuffed backpack.

She narrows her eyes at me. "So do you."

"What? Me? Sam Puckett? Do homework?" I pat her head again. "Adorable, Carly. You still believe in fairy tales."

Carly's lips struggle to muffle a smile. She sighs, squeezing my hand before she takes a step down the stairs. Freddie's waiting for her at the end of the sidewalk, confusion in his brow when Carly's hand slips from mine and she joins him. I watch him talk to her as they walk away, Carly's head turning back just once. I give her a small wave which she returns with a smile, and then I turn and walk in the opposite direction.

I walk with my head down, arms crossed, eyes on the sidewalk. When I'm with Carly, it's easy to be optimistic, even happy, but as soon as she's gone ... it's like a jolt of reality. It hits me like bricks, and each step I take closer to my old apartment complex shoves the cold and hard facts in my face. Carly's not here to numb them, to take them away, to make me feel better. This is it. Me. Here. My mom. Not here. My mom. Gone.

The back of my head still burns a little if I turn my head to fast, and it's impossible to sleep on my back. Not that I do much of that anyway; Carly's a ferocious cuddler, believe it or not. It's like the girl can't sleep if I'm not spooning with her. One arm is always around her waist, the other under her head, and my forehead is pressed to her skull. But, really, now that I think about it ... I sleep best like that, with Carly that close. I never really noticed until now why it was so hard for me to sleep in my apartment, why I always ended up sneaking over to Carly's in the middle of the night. It's so cheesy to say that Carly makes everything better, but it's so true.

I turn onto my street, the familiar graffiti greeting me with various swear words and pot leaves. I'm not even that far from the school, maybe a mile, but that short distance turns into the bad side of Seattle. I'm not afraid of it - Jesus, I've lived here since I was a baby - but Carly was always nervous about coming down here with me. I check the alleys instinctively as I walk by, my body tense in case some bozo decides to try and jump me. It's happened before. I'm a lot stronger than most people think, so most of the thugs have learned the hard way that I am not afraid to kick them in the balls if they get to close and generally leave me alone. That, and my mom kind of terrified them, so a Puckett was someone they knew not to mess with.

I pause for a moment before I step inside the building and stare at the place Carly found me. The blood's gone, but it's almost ... eerie, just looking at it. I rub the back of my neck as I finally move inside, the sticky heat meeting my lungs with familiarity. Ah, home. I move up the stairs, shifting my backpack as I swing down my hallway. The floor is littered in dirt, cigarette butts, some toys. In fact, I'm pretty sure that Barbie with the hair cut off was mine when I was a kid; it just goes to show that cleaning is not a top priority here.

The door isn't locked. I worry only briefly that maybe some of the people in my the complex had decided to go through the apartment, but then I remember that they were all petrified of my mother, and they don't necessarily know she's gone. It's only been two days; mom's slept longer than that, so for all they know she's passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey dangling from her hand.

I push my way inside to see that, pretty much, the room has gone untouched. It's almost exactly the way it was when I left. There's beer bottles all over the floor, half-burned cigarettes in piles. The kitchen light is still on, dirty plates thrown all over the counters and the sink. Something questionable and sticky and yellow is smeared on the stove. I close the door behind me and move into the living room. The lamp my mom knocked over when she was yelling at me is cracked on the floor, the glass from the bulb sprinkled over the carpet. The couch cushions are overturned, the blinds haphazardly dangling from the hooks.

Charming.

I make my way down the short hallway and glance into my mom's room; it's the biggest of the apartment, but it has the least stuff. There's a small bed in one corner, a dresser, and a TV that's probably older than me. The dresser drawers are open and empty. Her stash, which I know she keeps snuggled close with her bras, is gone. The extra bottle of vodka that usually rests under the bed is also absent. My mom has her priorities.

I hold my backpack in front of me as I move back to the hallway and further down, to my bedroom door. It's barely clinging to the hinges from the thousand times I've slammed it, or my mom's kicked it. I give it a soft pat as I move it aside. Poor door.

My room's a bit more ... ransacked than my mom's. My mattress is half on the floor and, yep, that hundred dollars is gone. "Bitch," I sneer, throwing my eyes to my mirror. It's smashed, the lines cracked across it like a spiderweb. My distorted reflection glares back at me. I don't remember if I did that or if that was at the hands of my angered mom; when she's in a rage, anything and everything is liable to be broken. I make my way toward the closet and start pulling out clothes - I don't know how long I'll be staying with the Shays. I hate knowing that I have nowhere else to go; I'm barely a month shy of eighteen, it's not like they're going to shove me into a foster home at this point. I was given a whole bunch of information to stay at a woman's shelter, but that ... I don't know. As much as it pains me to have to rely on Carly and Spencer, I prefer that to having to live with a bunch of strangers who think I'm all broken and shit.

As I stuff clothes in my backpack, I try to think about anything other than the fact that I'm basically homeless - practically an orphan, but with every glance toward my shattered reflection, they surface. I don't know my dad. Mom bailed. I'm stuck living off my best friend like a parasite. My insides feel like sludge and my heart hurts, pushing against my ribs like it wants to run away. And it's stupid, it's so stupid to feel like this; who gives a fuck if Mom left? She never cared about me to begin with. I'm better off without her. But ... it just sucks knowing that she didn't even try. She never attempted to love me or, hell, even _like _me half as much as she does Melanie. It sucks knowing I wasn't good enough and now that Mom's gone, I never will be.

I run a hand through my hair and ignore the cracks in the mirror. _Shut up, Puck_, I tell myself firmly. I'm going to be fine. I have Carly. I have the best person on the planet by my side, and that's all that matters. As long as I have Carly, everything else will fall into place.

I grab whatever will fit into my backpack and an extra duffel bag I brought; clothes, books for school, a few trinkets from Carly, and with every item that gets tossed into my bag, I focus more and more on the burning in the back of my head, occasionally running my fingers across the tender stitches beneath my hair to remind myself just exactly what I'm running away from. I stumble across a picture of us from middle school - Carly was all lanky and awkward back then, and I was even shorter than I am now. I beam at the picture, at the smiles on our faces as we stand beside a man in a cheeseburger outfit. I don't even remember what was going on, but knowing that I still have this with her ... it helps. It always helps.

I hit all the lights on my way out. I try to ignore the way my heart twists in my chest when I pass my mom's room again - it's stupid. I don't miss her. It's impossible to miss her. I guess I just miss the mom I never had to begin with. My eyes are burning and I refuse to leave the apartment before I can control myself. I don't need to cry. This isn't sad. This. Isn't. Sad. She was worthless; a no good bitch that stole my money and broke a fucking bottle of vodka over my head, for Christ's sake. I don't miss her. I don't miss her. I don't miss her.

Even as I push out of the apartment, I don't know if I believe those words.

* * *

**A/N:** _So, this chapter was a bit longer than the previous four, but there was no way to condense it any more than I already did. I wanted to publish this like, two days ago, but I used every ounce of self restraint to refrain myself from doing so._

_You should totally leave a review and I even have a legitimate reason this time. I'm getting my wisdom teeth pulled today, which means I will be lying about in pure pain and misery for the next few days. Reviews would make four teeth being yanked out of my skull totally worthwhile. So, yeah. Press the review button. Tell me what you thought. Give me internet hugs to make me feel better. _


	6. Chapter 6

_**|Carly|**_

When Sam gets home, she looks all torn up in a way I can't explain. I waited by my bedroom window for nearly an hour, resisting the urge to call her, nervously running my thumbs over my phone. She's a big girl, I reminded myself more than once. She can take care of herself. She's Sam. She survived a vodka bottle breaking over the back of her head, she should be able to handle going to her apartment and back.

Regardless, I almost melted when I saw her blonde hair appear from around the corner. I apparently made some sound of approval, because Freddie piped up from the couch.

"What?"

I waved my hands at him and watched her until she disappeared. I don't know what it is about Sam that makes me so ... high-strung when she's not there, when I don't know where she is or what she's doing. I feel naggy and possessive, but I can't help it. When you feel as close to someone as I am to Sam, you just ... they become an extension of you and there's really no other way to explain it.

Sam pushes through the door, glances at Freddie and then me before dumping her bags on the floor. I'm so used to her being pumped full of energy and ready to go that seeing her like this - exhausted, angry, upset - it makes my heart swell in sympathy. It just sucks, because even though Sam can talk to me about how all this feels, it won't change anything. I will never really know what it's like to be her. I'll never understand how hard this is. I frown at her as she drags her feet to the bed and collapses on the mattress, a heavy sigh escaping her lungs. I wonder what she saw, what happened, why she looks so drained and empty. I glance at Freddie, who hasn't even looked up from his Calculus book before I make my way over to my bed, dumping my phone somewhere along the way because my hands are empty when I meet her. I lay beside her, rubbing my hand along her spine. Her shirt is cold. She blinks at me almost wearily before her eyes close, another sigh leaving her lips.

"This is impossible," Freddie says, oblivious to Sam and I on my bed. I suddenly wish he wasn't here, that Sam and I could be alone, so I could take the pain out of her. I'm not accustomed to her needing the fixing, I'm not used to being the stronger of the two; I never realized until now that Sam is a lot more broken and busted up then I probably ever will be, even though she'd never admit it, not for all the meats in the world. She's just fragile in the way all humans are, and it's only occurring to me now that Sam's not made of steel.

"You okay?" I say it as a whisper - Freddie's still talking, going on and on about his math homework, but he's far away. Sam's eyes open again and she studies me, the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. It's weak, but it's there, and it's better than nothing.

"Peachy," she says in a breath that sounds more painful than it should be. My hand stops, resting in the dip of her lower back.

"It'll be okay," I tell her, my hand traveling up her spine again, slower than before. I can feel the notch of every disc in her spine. I follow it into her neck and then I pull her hair aside, flinging it across the opposite shoulder. I thread my fingers through it. It makes the most brilliant golden color when it catches in the sun.

Her lips press into a flat line, rolling onto her side. She searches for my hands and holds them tightly and she just stares at me. Freddie's voice drawls in the background, a distant hum, and for some reason my heart is beginning to pound the longer she looks at me. It's so intense, so serious, something I'm not used to at all when it comes to Sam but ... I like it. I like the way my hands are starting to sweat and my lungs are fluctuating like crazy and it's like my body is speaking in a language only my heart understands.

"As long as you don't break a bottle of booze over my head and bail, yeah. I'll be fine." She winks at me and my heart ba-bumps in my chest. I smile at her, leaning across the mattress because I just want to ... I don't know. But I'm leaning forward and her eyes grow heavy and hooded and it's like this instinct takes control without me thinking much about it and -

"Am I talking to myself over here?"

Freddie's voice cuts through me so fast I drop back to the bed, blinking in confusion. What was I just doing? Sam looks just as confused, releasing one of my hands to rub at her mouth. She twists, glaring at Freddie across the room.

"It's not like you're saying anything worth listening to, Fredward."

I watch her, unable to find the strength to sit up. What just ... what just happened? I was leaning in like I was going to ... oh no, no, I wasn't going - I was going to _kiss _her. Was I? I mean, why would I do that? Why would I kiss Sam? Sam's a girl. Sam's my best friend. That doesn't make sense. No, no, I wasn't going to kiss her, I was just trying to ... I was just ...

"You all right, Cupcake?" Sam's hand claps on my knee. "You're making a fish face."

I can tell by the tense lines around her mouth and the almost hysteric ring around her eyes that she's still a little... freaked by what just happened. Or almost happened. I mean, no! No, nothing was happening! It was just a misunderstanding. That's it. I misjudged myself. I huff slightly, sitting up, running a hand through my hair. I feel breathless out of nowhere and my lungs are still struggling to remember their proper function and I avoid Sam's face as much as I can, staring down at my lap.

"You still look like a fish."

I punch Sam's shoulder out of instinct, wincing slightly. Ow. The girl's made of muscle. I pout and rub my knuckles, giving her a glare. She just gives me a crooked smile as she stands, hovering near me for a moment. Her hand is still on my knee. She meets my eyes briefly, that same Tarzan-calculating look in her gaze, and then she moves away from me, toward Freddie on the couch. I'm left staring at her back, and then her bum, and then her legs and -

Really, I honestly don't swear, but what the _hell_?

"I'll be right back," I mumble, moving toward the door and slipping out of the room. I rest against the door, eyes closed. With Sam out of sight, my heart finally decides to take a break, slowing to an almost normal rate. I move toward the bathroom, like it's going to give me clarity or something, and slam the sink on. The water pounds against the sink, my hands pooling under the faucet and bringing it to my face.

I don't know why people do this in movies. It doesn't help. Now my face is wet and cold and I'm pretty sure my mascara is running. Grunting, I dab my face on the closest towel and hold it against my mouth, a muffled sigh dying in the cloth. What's the matter with me? What's going on? Maybe it's just because Sam's pretty much living with me now. We're always together, and now, now we're sleeping with each other every night as opposed to just a couple times a week. I always knew my relationship - friendship with Sam was kind of, I don't know, abnormal, but it wasn't until now that I realized just how... affectionate we are with each other. The hand-holding, the cuddling, kissing her hand ... do normal best friends do that?

I lower the towel, my eyes on the mirror, and I jump so hard I swear I might have peed a little.

"Sam!"

I whip around, my hand clutching my chest.

She smirks at me, swallowing a laugh. "Hope you're wearing your diapers today."

I make a face at her before throwing the towel at her chest. She smiles, catching it fluidly in her hands. Her eyes level on me and an unfamiliar, uncomfortable silence settles over the two of us, and we're just left there, staring at each other. Steadily, her face takes on a frown.

"Really, are you okay?"

I purse my lips at her. "Like I'm the one that needs to be asked. You're the one going through all this poo."

" 'Shit' would have been much more appropriate there."

"I don't like swearing, potty-mouth."

She smiles, reaching out and touching my elbow. I'm so used to Sam touching me I don't even think about it usually, but when her fingers brush my skin it's like a jolt of electricity and all of my nerves are suddenly at attention, and I'm looking at her eyes and I never really realized how ... how pretty they really are, and I'm so lost in their blue depths that I don't even notice that Sam's talking to me and it takes her hand waving in front of my face to snap me out of it.

"What?"

"Jesus, Carly, what are you smoking?" She squeezes my elbow. "I said that if you need anything, I'm here."

I smile at her, unfolding my arms to wrap them around her waist. My face is in her hair and she smells like my shampoo. "I know, Sam." My heart is doing crazy things again that I don't understand and, frankly, scare me, but at least I can trust Sam to her word. If I need her, she's right there.

"Can I join the group hug?"

Sam twists away from me, Freddie smiling from the doorway.

"Not even in your dreams, Wad." She slips out of my arms and shoves Freddie into the hallway. I follow, lingering in the threshold of the bathroom and staring after the both of them, after Sam.

I don't know what any of this means, but it's kind of terrifying.

* * *

**A/N:** _Here I am, wisdom-teeth less. The reviews definitely helped, you guys, and I thank you immensely! Also, Vicodin. It's heaven-sent. _

_I hoped this chapter was to your liking. Please, review, to make for a happy little writer!_


	7. Chapter 7

_**|Sam|**_

That night, I dream of Carly in a way I never have before. She's swimming and I'm treading after her. I can't tell if we're in a pool or a lake or an ocean, all I know is that I can't find the bottom and Carly's too far ahead of me. She turns back occasionally and makes sure my head is still above the water, but otherwise she just waves me onward. I don't know where we're going or why it's so important to get there, but I kick my feet even though they're tired and straining and I follow her. Her dark head bobs farther and farther in the distance. I call out for her, feel my exhausted body start to sag. The water is pulling me under, the cold waves pushing over my mouth and nose until I can't breathe. And then I can't see her anymore; all I see is darkness and the water stings my eyes. Something circles around my ankle and yanks, the surface of the water rising above me as I sink. My eyes burn as I turn my head down, trying to find what's drowning me to discover with a startled shock of bubbles leaving my chest that it's my mom glaring up at me, pulling me down into the black of the water. Her face is wild and angry, her teeth too sharp and her eyes gleaming in a way that makes my heart pound harder than it already is. I scream, my arms flailing upward. I can see Carly hovering above me, pushing the water as she searches but she can't see me, she can't see me and my mom is going to drown me and I'm going to die -

"Sam! Sam, wake up!"

A sharp shake of my shoulders brings me hurtling back to consciousness, my eyes snapping open to find Carly leaning over my head. I gasp, my lungs scorching with fire as I sit up, my back against the headboard. I clutch at my chest and breathe and Carly stares at me with wild rings around her eyes, her hands still holding my shoulders. It's dark, the faint light of the still flickering but mute TV illuminating Carly's body beyond it, this odd, bluish glow clinging to the edges of her.

"Carly," I croak, and Carly's thumbs sweep under my eyes and that's when I realize my cheeks are wet, that I was crying, that I _am _crying, and before I can stop myself I reach out and pull her into my chest, burying my face in her hair. My mother's enraged face is still pulsing in my subconscious, the tears falling out of me before I can stop them. The furious beat of my heart muffles Carly's whispers of reassurance into my ear and I still feel like I'm drowning, like Carly is a buoy and if I don't hold on to her I'll sink to the bottom again.

"I'm right here, Sam," she says, her hands rubbing along the length of my back. I nod into her shoulder, holding her desperately close. I don't know what came over me, what's taking over me now, I just know that I don't want her any farther apart from me than she is right now. I want her right here as physically close as physics will allow us.

"Why, Carls?" I choke into her hair, my tears soaking her t-shirt but I don't care, not right now. "Why'd she do that to me? Why'd she leave?" A strange, strangled sound leaves my throat. I can't remember the last time I ever cried like this - or at all, for that matter. I'm Samantha Puckett. I don't cry. That's beyond me. And yet here I am, holding Carly so tightly it's like I'm afraid I'll fly away if I don't and my heart is still having a seizure under my ribs. "She ruined everything, she ruined everything for me, Carly. And now I have to - I have to feed off you and Spencer like some leech -"

"Woah, woah," Carly leans back, my arms still twirled around her torso, so the distance between our faces is short. She touches my face again and leans closer. I part my legs to accommodate her because I just want her as close as possible. She's the only thing that brings me peace, this dark-haired girl whose face I know better than my own, and when her forehead meets mine I feel a rush of relief, brown pools melting into my eyes. "You're not a leech, Sam. We love you. _I_ love you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

But my mom dumped me. She broke a bottle over my head and left me to die for all she cared. And now I'm just surviving on the hands of my best friend and her brother like some incompetent rodent. I can't take care of myself. I couldn't handle myself with my mom, I couldn't handle myself when she left, and what if I end up just like her, like she's a disease? What if she grows in me like a plague and turns me into what she is? I don't want to be like her, I don't want to lose Carly, but what if my dream holds more meaning than I understand? What if it doesn't matter how much I want to be different, to be better than my mom, and I just end up like her anyway? What if it's just nature, what if it's in my blood to become like her?

"Sam, are you listening?" Carly pulls my bangs from my forehead and her lips plant a soft kiss there. My eyes flutter closed at the contact, my breathing starting to slow gradually, returning to an almost normal speed. She leans back and finds my eyes again, my arms loosening just barely around her waist. "I want you here," she says, her voice firm and determined. Carly's usually so passive and soft, but when she means something, I know it very clearly. "Spencer wants you here. We all want you here because it's safe and we would never kick you out. We would never do that to you, okay?"

"I'm sorry," I whisper, pulling my hands back to rub at my eyes, to wipe the sleeve of my night shirt under my nose. "I'm a blubbering mess."

Carly smiles at me, her lips soft as she touches my cheek again. "Hold on, I'll get you a tissue." She rolls, throwing her legs off of the bed and reaching for the light switch. The room explodes with brightness, my arm crooking over my eyes with a loud curse. Carly giggles as she leaves the room and I'm given a few moments to contain myself. I take a long, deep, shuddering breath and release it slowly through my nose. I smell Carly. I smell her everywhere, and that makes me feel better, my heart finally returning to a normal pace. I rub my arms slowly, shifting on the bed.

That was ... weird, me exploding like that. I'm usually so in check with my emotions, more than capable of keeping them under control, but that just ... got out of hand. I don't even dream that often, let alone have nightmares, let alone have nightmares about my mom. Maybe it's just because she's actually gone, she's disappeared and I don't have to deal with her face-to-face anymore, so my brain thought up another way of making sure I don't forget her. I sit cross-legged and run my hand through my hair. Man, that was crazy, though. If Carly wasn't here - if I wasn't here with Carly, that would have sucked even more than it did.

She emerges quietly back into the room, a box of tissues in one hand, a large glass of water in the other. She sits in front of me, yawning as she pushes the box of tissues into my lap, taking a long sip from the glass before she hands that over, too. I pluck the tissues from the box and blow my nose with quite the gorgeous sound, shooting them basketball style into the nearby trash can. I hold the glass with both hands and peer down into the water, sighing so my breath disturbs the surface, ripples rolling.

"I'm sorry about that, Cupcake. Not used to getting all emotional." I smile at her as I take a sip of the water, the cold liquid drenching my dry throat. I give a content sigh as I lean back against the headboard of her bed, my eyes leveling on her. She smiles back at me, her fingers picking at themselves in her lap. She's been acting uncharacteristically nervous around me since earlier today when Freddie was here; avoiding my eyes, acting almost afraid to touch me ... I don't understand what's gotten over her, but then again, I'm not much in a place to be talking about someone acting out of character.

"It's okay. You needed it. Bottling things up is bad for you." She steals the water again and downs the rest, leaning over me to set it on the bedside table.

I don't think about it; I just reach up and touch her face. She freezes, eyes traveling back to me, one hand on one side of my torso while the other hovers over the glass. I watch her throat swallow hard and her eyes dart between ... between my _lips _and my _eyes _... She's been acting so weird around me, so tense all of the sudden and I want to know why. What did I do? What _didn't_ I do? And earlier, when she was leaning in to ... to ...

And then it makes sense. Something just clicks right into place. Carly's acting weird because she ... because she loves me a lot more than she says she does. My heart crashes unmercifully against my ribcage as I lean forward. It's like a fire just ignited in my gut. "Carly," I say, because I can't think of anything, all I know is that Carly is right here right now and I've never felt so pulled to someone in my life and my friendship with her, the dynamics of it, the way it's always worked so strangely in everyone else's eyes, it's starting to make sense now.

My mom might try to drown me, but Carly will always be right there to pull me back up, to save me.

"Should I - can I - ?" The question dies on my tongue because Carly doesn't wait for me to finish, pushing forward with unfamiliar bravery in her eyes. Her lips press against mine with a surge of heat and my nightmare shatters away, replaced with this, this ... much preferable reality. And maybe it's always been lingering somewhere in the back of my mind that I fancy Carly more than I was willing to admit, but I already had her as a best friend ... how could I steal her any more than I already had? My arms wrap around her waist and bring her closer, her own snaking around my neck. Her body trembles, the kiss breaking with heavy pants on both of our ends. She meets my eyes, her body sagging against me like she lost all of her strength.

"Sam ..."

I unwind a hand from her waist and push it to her lips. I blink slowly just to make sure I'm really awake, that that really just happened. I run my tongue over my lips and I can taste her, stuck to my lips like a stamp. I twitch a smile at her.

"So. How long have you been bottling _that_?"

Carly's face is blank for a moment, only for a furious blush to crawl nearly to her hairline. I laugh, curling my fingers around her ear to pull the hair back.

"Er, it's actually a relatively new development," she says, and her voice sounds all breathless, like I suck all the air out of the room. I don't understand why, or how, but it's like ... it's like I mesmerize her. My smile grows.

Maybe I meant nothing to my mom, but damnit, I mean something to Carly. I mean a whole lot of somethings to Carly.

"Before or after my brains got smashed?"

Her eyebrows meet over her nose. "I don't really know."

I lean forward again, my heartbeat building the closer I get to her mouth and I'm kissing her again, soft and gentle and careful and it's so new but it feels like I've done it forever, like I _should _have been doing it forever. When I pull back her breath washes against my chin and nose in a shaky gush and it's weird, knowing I have that kind of effect on someone, knowing I can make someone both weak and strong.

She shuts off the lights and crawls back into bed, the TV still flickering in front of us. She curls into my chest, my chin over her head. I run my hand through her hair and listen to my heart, slow and steady but so loud, so ... sure. Like it finally has a reason.

I kiss her once more before sleep steals her, and it comes with a sharp swipe of tongue that makes me shiver.

And maybe fate isn't such a stupid concept after all.

* * *

**A/N:** _Since I'm stuck home for a few days because of the surgery, I've been very happily dedicating all of my time to this story, and not to my homework! Huzzah!_

_Hope you guys are enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. Oh, and you should totally review. I can't eat solid food yet, so your reviews would be like ... cookies! Mm, I miss cookies._


	8. Chapter 8

_**|Carly|**_

I wake up to the sound of Sam snoring musically in my ear. I yawn, rolling away from her less-than-pleasant morning breath and stretching my arms. My mind is already whirling at a million miles a minute, trying to pick something up that I'm clearly forgetting. I'm not too sure what it's trying to get me to remember. I jolt as my alarm blares, my arm reaching out to quickly smack it. I turn a tired, groggy look at Sam over my shoulder, my eyes immediately zeroing in on her lips and oh my _God _-

I kissed Sam.

Sam kissed me.

We _kissed_.

I stare at her for what feels like forever, her sleeping, unconscious body sprawled across my bed. Her arm lifts and lands where my body was, her blonde brows twitching to find that I'm not there. I ease to my feet, tip-toeing to my dresser where I yank whatever clothes I can reach first out of the drawer before I all but run out of the room. It's not like I'm in any danger of waking Sam up - the girl is a friggin' rock - but my heart is still pounding even when I'm in the safety of my bathroom, the door shutting behind me.

I kissed Sam.

My legs sag against the bathroom door. I shake my head, ruffling my hair and rubbing at my eyes to make sure I remember right. Yes, yes, I kissed her. And then she kissed me. And then we kissed again. What's that, then? Three times? We kissed three times in one night, one right after the other? Oh, dear. I put a hand over my seizing heart and manage to undress myself, stumbling into the shower. The hot water pounds against my back, soaks my hair, shakes the fatigue right out of me. Every time I close my eyes I can see Sam's lips hovering over mine, I can feel her breath on my chin when she pulled away, I can ... Oh, man ...

I don't know what's coming over me, what came over me, but Sam, Sam is ... really hard to resist. And she wanted it, too! She did, right? It's not just my mind making stuff up? Oh, God, I hope not. I take a deep breath and then another, holding my face under the water and spitting it. Sam's just so ... gorgeous and she just, she gets me, you know? Better than most people, better than ... than anyone. Oh! What if I'm just confused? What if I'm just taking advantage of Sam living here all the time? I curl my hands into fists around my temples. What's wrong with me? What's wrong with her? What's wrong with us? Good Lord, I'm acting like a crazy person -

"Carls?"

I freeze, clutching the shower curtain and throwing my head outside of it. Knuckles roll against the door again.

"Carls, heyo?"

"Yeah?" I press a hand to my forehead. I feel dizzy. Oh, man. "What's up?"

"Can I ..." There's a long pause in which I don't even breathe in, my lungs completely failing me. "Can I come in?"

I let the shower curtain close, my hand pushing against my neck. I can feel my heart pounding in my veins like it wants to escape. I take a breath only for it to shatter somewhere along the way to my lungs because I have to take another one with the same results. "Uh -"

"Nevermind, I'll see you downstairs -"

"No, Sam! No, it's okay! Come in, please!" I want her in here, I want to ... see her. I want to see her naked. That sounds so weird, but something inside of me starts burning when I think about it, when I think about her with ... with water pouring down her body, and it's not like I haven't seen Sam in a bikini before because, hello, I have, and maybe there's a reason why I always admired her from afar ...

There are things even _I_ didn't know about myself.

The door creaks open. I push myself in the far corner, not because I don't want her to see me, but because this is ... new. This is completely new territory, and neither of us have stepped on this ground before. I mean, I love Sam ... I love Sam. The words make me halt, my breathing ceasing again. I love Sam. My tensing nerves seem to relax a little, even when I hear something that sounds like clothes hitting the ground outside of the shower.

Sam's naked.

In the same room.

As me.

I watch her hand curl around the shower curtain, followed by a long, tan leg. Instinctively, I start to cover myself by turning one leg over, my hands hovering by my breasts, but I completely forget that I'm even naked as Sam emerges. I always knew Sam was beautiful but ... but naked Sam ... that's an entirely different story, let me tell you. I release a breath as the steam rolls past her. Her legs are long in a way I never really noticed before, the slope of her hips melting into curves I've never seen. And her breasts ... oh lord. Don't even get me started. I haven't so much as given another girl a glance and suddenly I'm staring at her chest like it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I just want to touch them. They're so ... soft and ... ugh, perky is such an ugly word. She's so petite and yet the muscles in her arms amaze me, toned around her shoulders as her arms spread to balance herself. The shower curtain drops closed and it's just us, standing here. She meets my eyes slowly, taking a slow step toward me. I don't tell my feet to move but they do, inching toward her until I'm under the water again. I blink, water rushing down my cheeks, and when I open them again Sam's right in front of me, the water trailing down her sandy hair and turning it brown.

"Hi." Sam's lips twitch into a smile and I know she's nervous. Hell, I'm nervous. I'm really nervous.

"Hi." I can feel my cheeks burning under the water.

Sam's eyes slip toward the wall. "Mind if I help you?" She quirks her eyebrow at me as she leans past me, her hand curling around a shampoo bottle. She leans back, wiggling it in front of my face. I can't help but smile tightly at her, turning so my back is to her.

"Not at all," I assure her, my body racking with shivers as her lathered hands start massaging my skull. She washes my hair with this uncharacteristic gentleness, this softness even I had never seen before. And when she's done I turn her toward the wall and do the same. Her bum rests between my legs which, really, neither of us can help, and it sends a spark of fire through me in a place I never knew could burn but, man, it feels good. Her head rolls back as I ring my fingers through it, careful to avoid her stitches as I shampoo her hair. She only winces once before I step her back into the jet of the water, smoothing my fingers slowly through her thick layers of blonde threads. Soap tumbles down her body in an almost ... mesmerizing way. I can't help but stare.

It isn't until then that our shower turns into ... well, more than a shower. She curls her finger under my chin and brings it up, my eyes blurring with water and fuzzing her out. I blink just in time to see her head coming into view and her lips are on mine, and, oh. I melt, my arms slipping up her torso to wind around her neck. I hold her tightly as she kisses me, as I kiss her, her arms holding my waist like she's afraid I'll fall. She's probably right, too. I might just tumble if she doesn't hold me tight enough. I make a soft sound as the kiss breaks and then I can just see her brilliant, blue eyes holding mine in the sweat of the water, the steam parting as she exhales a breath.

She turns then, grabbing a sponge from the shower basket with some soap. I'm still dizzy, my mind whirling as the shower explodes with the scent of pomegranates. Sam's smiling at me again as she rests the sponge on my shoulder, running down the length of my arm. I lift it obediently and I let her trail over me with those careful fingers. She bends at the knees to follow the slope of my legs and it's only then that I remember I'm, well, I'm very naked, a furious blush consuming my cheeks as she makes her way back up. The sponge slips between my legs only briefly but a sound I can't control comes out of my throat, a squeak of pleasure. Sam's biting back laughter when she comes into view again, the sponge winding around my back.

She laughs at me. I steal the sponge, sticking my tongue out at her as I rest it against her neck. I steady my gaze then, really looking into her eyes and I see this ... this emotion I'm not used to seeing in Sam. She just looks so focused, like I'm ... like I'm everything all at once. It's a weird feeling. I run the sponger over her arms, sucking in a breath as I coast over her breasts. I stare at them a lot longer than I probably should, running the sponge under them slowly before I continue my descent. I make my way up her glorious legs, pausing where they meet, staring open-mouthed at the tuft of blonde hair. I jerk my eyes up and meet her gaze, sucking my lower lip between my teeth and watching her face as the sponge moves across it. Her body does this incredible ... I don't know, wave thing at the sensation, her arms reaching out to take my shoulders like she'll fall if she doesn't.

I chuckle at her as I come to stand again, her eyes hazy as her hands find my waist again. She pulls me close, her lips hot and wet on my collarbone. I shiver as she pulls the skin between her teeth, a soft sucking sound coming from her. Another weird noise rattles my vocal chords, something akin to a whimper as her hands puddle in my lower back, pressing our hips together. I roll against her, unable to control myself. It's like my body is speaking in a language only Sam understands. Her breasts push against mine, the soft nubs of her nipples hardening on mine and, man, that's an oddly amazing sensation. Her hands slip further down my back, following the curve of my bum and I never knew my butt could be so sensitive - I squeak against her, my body twisting in a way that's all but begging her for something more ...

She pulls away then, smiling at me through the water. "We should probably get out."

I blink slowly at her. That sounds like a terrible idea. "Hm? Why?"

She chuckles, flicking my damp hair out of my face. "School, Cupcake."

I jolt - I completely forgot! It was like my world was just Sam - which, honestly, isn't such a bad thing. I jerk, reaching around her to turn the water off. The room goes silent, a cold gush replacing the hot steam. Without all the water in the way, I can ... I can really see her now. The water trails down the slope of her body and I end up staring at her again, but, really, everyone would stare at Sam if they were in my position right now.

"School, Carls."

"Oh, yeah!" I almost fall trying to get out of the shower, but Sam catches my elbow. She steps out carefully, holding me, and, laughing, she kisses me again. It's soft and so ... warm, and her body is hot and wet and fitting in the curves of mine and ... yeah, I like this.

* * *

**A/N:** _Oh, shower scene. You likey? Me likey._

_So, I'm still here, sitting around in agony. Turns out I have a dry socket which is acutely painful, if you didn't know. Reviews will lessen the pain! It's a proven fact!_


	9. Chapter 9

_**|Sam|**_

I never liked school anyway, and paying attention was never high up on my list of concerns, but now, it's practically at the bottom, because I can't take my eyes off of Carly for a second.

I showered with her. I saw her naked. I touched her. Naked. And it was awesome. It was so awesome. I start shaking just thinking about it, my chin in my hand as I watch Carly next to me, trying to take notes. Her eyes keep sliding toward me, a smile hiding behind her other hand. She swats at me more than once, my hand starting to crawl on her thigh. She giggles, turning to tap her pencil against the top of my head.

"Focus," she hisses, motioning toward the teacher. Her cheeks are a bright red, like they were in the shower - man, I had Carly in the shower.

I chuckle at her, turning to finally put my eyes on the teacher, but, really, there's no helping it. The morning is still replaying in my head, over and over, like a brilliant, awesome porno that keeps skipping. I don't fucking know, I suck at analogies. All that matters is that I had Carly against the shower wall, naked, and I washed her from head to toe and I kissed her and it was so fucking cool, I just want to stand up and blurt it out to everyone. But, even I, the notorious Samantha Puckett, know my limits. There are things you've gotta keep to yourself. Even when they are very awesome.

Every time I see Freddie I just want to shove it in his face. He would kill orphans to be in the position I was in this morning. I feel kind of bad for him, though, the little wad. He has no idea what he's missing. He has no clue. And he'll never know, either. So ha. I've seen all of Carly, and he'll just have to rely on his imagination for the rest of his life and even that won't be close to the real thing.

If I had a collar, I would be poppin' it.

The bell rings. I jump to my feet, swinging my books onto one hand while the other unconsciously slips down Carly's arm and hooks with her free hand. She smiles at me, this cute blush swarming her cheeks. Damn, she's gorgeous. She walks out with me, glued to my side like we've done this a hundred times. And it's weird because I don't think of my mom once, not through any of my classes. It's just Carly, it's just school and Carly and her smiling at me when I wink at her. It's just Carly and the rushing of my pulse in my ears, it's just Carly.

"I'll see you at lunch." Carly squeezes my fingers as she slips away. Damn, I forgot we don't have every class together. I watch her sway down the hallway before I, too, turn toward my respective class, falling into my desk in a bit of a daze. You'd think that now that Carly's out of sight, I'd be able to focus more ... but without her here to scold me for not paying attention, my mind happily wanders. My cheeks get warm when I replay those sounds she made in the shower, noises I didn't know Carly was capable of making. It makes me feel almost ... powerful, which is kind of weird, but it's true. I rub my hands together under the desk, smirking to myself.

"Yo, Puck."

I turn, a note flying through the air. I reach up reflexively and catch it, frowning at the paper, my eyes narrowing on the boy who threw it. He's giggling. I don't know his name and I'm not entirely sure how he knows mine, but I turn my head down and peel back the note.

_Are you lesbo?_

My lips twist at the words. Lesbo. That sounds like something you'd call a robot. _Lesbobot_. I roll my eyes, curling the paper into a ball and shoving it into my pocket. The teacher's eyes fix on me, giving me a warning before he turns around again. I don't care what people think of me. I don't care what people whisper about. As long as they leave Carly out of it, it's not that big of a deal to me.

"Puck."

I give a hard huff and throw my eyes toward the boy again, flicking another note in my direction. I let it land on the desk, throwing my angry gaze at him again before I tear that note open, too.

_Are you and Carly Shay lesbians?_

Oh, see, now, lines have been crossed. This boy must be completely brain dead because everyone - _everyone _knows not to mess with Carly if they don't want my fist in their nose. I turn, facing the boy, holding the note between my fingers. I'm lucky, really - apparently the teacher has given us time to work, because people are talking. I narrow my gaze on the stupid twat, glad that the teacher hopefully won't hear me.

"You watch yourself, you little shit. I will not hesitate to snap your neck."

The boy pushes his lips at me. "It's just a question, _Samantha_. No need to get feisty."

"If I ever hear Carly's name leave your mouth, I will cut your tongue off."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a _promise_."

He doesn't say anything to me after that, simply turns to his friends. I try to focus on my worksheet, but now I'm all worried. What if I ruin Carly's reputation? She's such a goody-two-shoes kind of girl, she's so ... nice, and I don't want to ruin things for her. It's bad enough I'm sucking the life out of her and Spencer, that I'm constantly around her. What if I start to annoy her? What if rumors start spreading around, just because of me? I shouldn't have held her hand, I shouldn't have flirted with her right in the middle of class. I push a hand to my forehead and try to tell my thoughts to shut up, but now that the seed's been planted ...

The bell rings. I stand with much less enthusiasm than usual, considering it's lunchtime, and drag my feet out of the room. I give the boy another glare, imagining me quite happily sinking a knife into his stupid back as I slump against my locker, ripping the door open.

"Jeez, did someone die?"

I pull back the locker door and, despite myself, I smile. Carly quirks her lips at me.

"Or did the lunch ladies announce a vegetarian dish today?"

I roll my tongue out at her and shut my locker. Her hand spins down my wrists, cold fingers crawling in the spaces between mine. I hesitate, biting my lip as I jerk my eyes over my shoulder, stepping closer to her. I squeeze her hand, hovering by her ear. I can smell the pomegranate soap on her and shiver, remembering the way it dribbled down her chest ... oh boy. "Look, you don't have to ... if you want to keep this on the down-low ..."

I feel Carly stiffen beside me, pulling her head back so she can see my eyes. "Down-low?"

I frown. "Some boy was asking me if I was - if we were lesbians." I say the last few words hushed, under my breath. "I don't want to ruin what you've got going here -"

"Sam." She laughs, her free hand reaching up, giving me a slight tap on the nose. "I've never cared about what people said about us before, why would I start now?" Her smile falters slightly, her finger lingering on my jaw. "And you're not ruining anything, okay?" She pauses, her eyes leaving mine just for a moment. A sly smile takes over her lips, followed closely by a ruby tinge to her cheeks.

And then she kisses me, right there, in the middle of the hallway. Heat pools down my spine.

I hear someone drop their books. I hope it's Freddie, but when I pull back, I see it's a bunch of freshman, frozen in place. I lick my lips slowly, steadying my gaze on a woozy-looking Carly.

"Reassured?" She says, her voice all whispery.

"What's going on?"

I turn, Freddie hovering over Carly's shoulder. His brows meet over his nose, eyes darting between myself and Carly who is still standing pretty close to my face. I squeeze Carly's hand, take a slow step away from her, and swing my arm over Freddie's shoulders.

"Fredward, we have to talk."

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**A/N:** _This is the part I ask for reviews, and also where I thank the ones who have been leaving reviews regularly. You guys make me a happy little writer. I couldn't ask for better readers._


	10. Chapter 10

**_|Carly|_**

"You're joking, right? This is a joke? Please, Carly. Tell me you're not serious."

I frown at Freddie on the other end of the couch, his fingers twisted in his hair like I just told him a terrible lie. I look into my lap and pick at my fingers, letting the silence stretch. I mean, I knew he probably wouldn't take to it too well ... I know how Freddie feels about me. And it was never that I didn't love him, too - I did, I _do_, it's just ... I don't know. I only loved him in one way, and no matter how hard I tried (and trust me, did I ever) there was just no forcing myself into being _in _love with him. It would probably be easier for me if I did, and maybe people would stop staring at me at school, but I wouldn't give up Sam. Not now.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," I say slowly, feeling a rush of pride in my chest. I shouldn't be sorry. It's not like I can help my feelings, it's not like I can stop myself from loving Sam. I just do. I look at him again and slide across the touch. He's hunched over, his forehead almost pressing to his knees. I touch his back carefully but he twitches away from me, pushing off the couch to stand, arms crossed.

"So, what Sam said is true, then." He turns his eyes to me and I'm not used to seeing them angry, I'm not accustomed to Freddie being mad at me. I lower my head slowly, idly twirling a finger around a strand of hair.

"Yes." I try to sound firm but it's hard. I can feel his eyes on me and I know... I know I'm hurting him. That I've been hurting him for a long time. I bite my lip and look up at him again, his eyes on the door. "Freddie, I don't know what you want me to say -"

"I want you to be joking. This isn't fair." He huffs loudly, wringing a hand through his hair. "I've been trying to get with you for years -"

"There's nothing wrong with you," I say quickly. There isn't. It was never that Freddie was inadequate, it was just that Sam was ... Sam _is _just something else. "Freddie, it's not that big of a deal. Sam and I are together. I'm not sorry about it."

"But Sam's - she's - you're -" He gives a grunt, his eyes glaring in the direction of the stairs. I told Sam to give us some time so I could calmly talk this over with him, but by the look on Freddie's face I'm almost positive she's sitting on the stairs, overjoyed at all of this.

Without turning around, I yell, "Sam, get upstairs!"

"Yes, dear!"

She thumps loudly up the stairs. I swallow, turning my attention back to Freddie, who has his hand crooked over his eyes. I pluck at my jeans. I don't know what to say. I don't know what he wants to hear. Well, I do. He wants me to drop Sam and fall into his arms and have us walk into the sunset in a happily ever after, but ... I found my Prince Charming. She came in the body of a tough little blonde girl, but she showed up. Finally.

"Freddie ... look. I can't change things. I can't change how I feel about Sam."

"I just ... I don't get it, Carly. What does she have that I don't?"

"I have boobs -!"

"Sam!" I throw myself off the couch and hurl myself up the stairs. She's squatting at the top of them, her hands caged over her mouth. I thrust a finger at her, narrowing my gaze in what I hope to be a threatening way. "I mean it, Puckett. Upstairs. Now." I glance back at Freddie before turning to face her again, my voice lowering to a hushed whisper. "Or I'll make you sleep on the _couch_."

Sam makes a zipping motion over her lips as she stands, waltzing happily to my bedroom. I wait until I hear the door close before I turn back to Freddie, rubbing my arms. "Sorry about that."

"Sam's rude," Freddie shoots at me, hands resting on his hips. "She's obnoxious and loud and she's a delinquent, for chizz sake -"

"Hey." I cross my arms back at him. "She's also smart and nice and generous."

"She's _mean_."

"To _you_."

"To everyone! And she's a - she's a _girl_, Carly." He says it like I wasn't aware, throwing his hands up.

"Oh, thank you, Freddie. If you hadn't pointed that out, I would have been terribly confused."

Freddie huffs again, sagging to the couch. I stand, staring at him for a long moment before I lower, plopping beside him. I'm not mad at him. I kind of expected the reaction to be like this. I mean, he has been barking up this tree for quite some time. And it's not like I didn't try being with Freddie. I did. I tried a lot. I've kissed him quite a bit for being just friends. But it's just ... not the same. It's not like it is with Sam. With Sam, my heart kind of stops, you know?

"You're my best friend. Me being with Sam isn't going to change that." I touch his back again and, this time, he just sighs and looks at me with his eyes big and hurt. "And it doesn't change the fact that I love you, too."

His lips twitch down. "But not like you love her."

I purse my lips and shake my head slowly, patting his back. "No. Not like that." I put my hands back in my lap and twist my fingers. "But you're going to find a really nice girl some day, Freddie. And she's going to be really lucky to have you."

"No one is going to beat you."

I turn and glance at him, giving him a smile. "Someone will."

Sam's feet drop down the stairs. We both turn to see her with a sandwich in her hands (a sandwich I don't remember her making), grinning over at us. "Don't worry, Wad. I'll take good care of her." She circles the couch and nestles between Freddie and I, one hand on my leg. Freddie stares at it, his throat struggling to swallow. But he smiles at Sam, and I know that things are going to be okay. It's going to be difficult and rocky and Sam and Freddie are probably going to start butting heads a lot more than usual, but it'll straighten out. We're best friends. Nothing is going to change that.

* * *

**A/N: **_I promise, after this chapter, we get back to the ... bare necessities. -wink-_

_Please leave reviews! I'm eating solid food now, and I'm pretty sure it's all thanks to your reviews. _


	11. Chapter 11

_**|Sam|**_

If Carly could see me, she'd kill me. She hates when I get too close to the edge. But I've never really been afraid of it. I've never been afraid of falling, of looking down.

I lean on the edge of the roof, my fingers curling over the concrete ledge. Seattle is sprinkled below me and the sound of horns and motors floats up on a chilled wind that plays with my hair. It smells like rain. I crouch, crossing my arms on the corner of the roof and looking down at the roads that criss-cross like veins under foggy skin. It's dark and it makes the city really come alive, the lights blinking up at me like a wide, flat Christmas tree. Seattle might smell like smog and be damp and wet all the time, but it can be beautiful when it wants to be. Even the stars at my back can't compete with this.

I come up here sometimes, just to think. Before I moved in with Carly, I'd just sneak out of my own apartment and come here. That way, I don't have to worry about someone attacking me where I lived. It's just really peaceful in a way only heights can give me. Most people are so pussy about them - Carly, for example - but I love the way I get all dizzy when I turn my head down. It's weird. Maybe I should be a pilot or something.

My breath spills out of my mouth in a fog. I blow it away. My arms are cold because I didn't even think to bring a jacket, but as soon as Freddie left, I just needed to think. I needed to be alone. I just ... I need to sort things out. Things are going so quick and it's not that I'm not happy about it - I am. I am happy. It's just, it's a lot to process, and I can still feel my mom hanging on my shoulders sometimes. Especially if I'm alone, like now. I can see her face so clearly, twisted like it was in my nightmare, I can see her hand with the vodka bottle raining down on my head and it just ... it sucks.

I flick my eyes over the city again. She could be anywhere in Seattle, or she could be a thousand miles away from here. She could be in an entirely different country for all I know. And I don't want to care. I don't want to worry about her safety, I don't want to want to know where she is and if she's alive, but I do. I mean, I hate her. Hate is a strong word and I don't use it lightly, but really, I do hate her. She's a piece of shit and I don't even think she'd argue that with me. But ... she's my mom. She birthed me, you know? She raised me, even if she did a shit job of it.

And she's just, gone. Poof.

I run a hand through my hair and grip it tightly, wincing as the stitches get pulled. I don't care. I let the pain push through my skull in hot flashes. The city swims beneath me. I hate all of this, this caring shit, this not knowing. I mean, even if I just knew she was dead in a ditch somewhere, maybe I'd feel better.

She used to tell me that I'm a waste of space. That no one would ever care about me. I grip the edge of the roof and peer down, at the tiny specks of people filing down the streets. My teeth chatter from the cold. She said I would amount to nothing, that I _am _nothing. And for a long time, I believed her. I let her convince me that I was worthless, that I didn't count, that among so many better things and people, I was insignificant.

I close my eyes and think of Carly. I think of the way she looks at me, touches me, I think of the way she kisses me and I know that my mom is wrong. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, I'm just a speck. I'm probably not going to change the world and a hundred years from now, people won't remember my name. But I do mean something. I have a reason. A purpose.

It's Carly. It's always been Carly.

"Sam?"

I turn. She's half in and half out the door, huddling in her sweatshirt. Long waves of dark hair whip around her face, one hand reaching out for me.

"What are you doing?"

I smile at her, pushing off the edge and making my way across the roof. And the sky might be beautiful, and the city below might be beautiful, but nothing compares to this soft girl with big, brown eyes. I take her outstretched hand and pull her into my chest, her arms looping around my waist. Her face presses into my neck and I can feel her mouth on my pulsepoint and I wish my mom could see this, could see us, because maybe she'd understand that someone does give a damn about me - a whole lot of damns, actually.

"You're freezing," she says against my neck.

I shrug. I hadn't really noticed the cold. I rub her back slowly and pull away, meeting her eyes. "Let's get back inside."

"What were you doing up here? You kind of freaked me out." Her hand crawls down my arm and slips into mine as we slip back into the building. My cheeks flare red as heat replaces the cold, Carly pressing close to my chest. We linger on the stairs, my hands in her hair, my eyes studying hers.

"Thinking about my mom." I'm blunt and honest with her because I always have been. I don't hide things from Carly.

She presses her lips together and lifts a hand, sweeping her knuckles under my eye. I flutter, turning my head to push my lips against her cold fingertips. And I don't know how I got so lucky with Carly, why, out of all the people more deserving than me, I got her, but I'm glad. I am so glad she's mine, that she looks at me this way and touches me and chooses me to be with. Maybe I don't deserve her, but I'm not going to take advantage of her. Not for a minute.

"She's never going to hurt you again, okay? I promise."

I peel back my eyes and stare at her, at the promise heavy in her eyes. Her fingers touch my jaw and hold it steady as she leans forward, kissing me with such tenderness I think ... I think I might cry. I close my eyes tightly and force them back, swallowing hard as our lips break with a soft sound of separation. I hold her hips and nod slowly, chewing on the inside of my cheek. It's going to be hard, but my mom ... she's a finished chapter in my life, and there's no point in reading a book backwards.

I meet Carly's eyes again. She smiles at me and I'm much more interested in the future, anyway.

* * *

**A/N:** _I know this is a really quick update considering I just updated this story earlier today, but ... I really want to get the chapter after this up because, well, I'm quite fond of it. _

_Anyway, enjoy! Please leave reviews!_


	12. Chapter 12

_**|Carly|**_

"Detention?"

I'm not surprised. This is Sam we're talking about. Still. I pout, leaning against the locker. "What did you do this time?"

Sam frowns, rubbing at her neck nervously as she looks away. "I might have ... punched a douche in the face."

"Sam!"

"He was talking shit about you!"

I stop, gauging her slowly. Despite firmly believing in violence _not _being the answer, it feels kind of ... nice, knowing Sam sticks up for me that way. I shake my head, raising my hands and putting them palms out. "Look, Sam, as much as I ... appreciate you protecting my honor or whatever, you need to stop beating kids up. You can't afford to get in trouble like this anymore." I'm right and she knows it. She's almost been suspended a couple times this year - she's lucky the principal gives her so much slack. If he didn't know about Sam's mom, he would have kicked her out a long time ago. The only reason he's given her so many extra chances is because I've begged him to.

Sam crosses her arms, hiding behind a curtain of blonde hair. "I'm not just going to let people talk shit about you, Carly."

I huff. "I don't care what they say about me. Let them talk. They're not worth you getting kicked out of school." I mimic her stance, frowning down at my shoes. "I hate when you have detention."

"Hey, Carls." Her hand curls under my chin and forces it up and then I'm lost in her eyes, that startling, soft blue. She smiles apologetically at me, her other hand resting gently on my hip. "I'll make it up to you when I get home." Her voice is deep, almost ... sultry, and I shiver without really thinking about it. "I promise," she whispers, leaning in and pressing a too brief and yet knee-melting kiss to my cheek.

And then she's gone, and Freddie's pulling me to the doors. I walk out in a daze, my thoughts currently operating in the gutter as we walk home. Freddie's talking but I'm not really listening, just nodding at appropriate intervals.

_I'll make it up to you ._..

Oh, man.

Whenever I think about getting ... intimate with Sam, my stomach twists so hard I think I might puke. I mean, it's not because I don't want to, it's just ... I'm a virgin. I'm a big virgin. I'm the biggest virgin I know. Well, except for Freddie, but that's different. I've never even let a boy up my shirt before. Maybe that's because boys never did much for me to begin with, but ... it's a big step. And, yeah, Sam and I have been showering together now for a while, and we sleep in the same bed, and Sam hates clothes so she's practically naked all the time anyway, but I've always been careful and ... ugh.

Another part of me, though, is excited. Finally, _finally_, Sam gets to see all of me in every way possible. Sex is supposed to be fun, right? That's why people do it. And I like naked Sam. I wonder what kind of noises she makes, I wonder what kind of faces -

"Carly? Hello?"

"What?" I turn frantically toward Freddie. Oh, good Lord I hope it's not written all over my face. Don't say sex, Carly. Don't say sex, don't say sex. "What were you saying?"

Freddie makes a face before shaking his head. "Nevermind."

As soon as I'm in my apartment, I run to the sink and splash water on my face, just to calm myself. My heart is racing and my hands are shaking when I sit down to do my homework, which is a totally futile effort. I stare at the words but all I see is Sam. Naked. The numbers in my calculus book swim and dissolve and before I know it I'm chewing my pencil to the thought of Sam taking my clothes off -

Oh my _God_. She's turned me into a total horndog.

It's only two hours, but they take forever to pass. I finish all of my homework and even get started on extra stuff just to try and occupy my brain. My eyes keep flicking toward the door. This is stupid. I'm stressing myself out over nothing. Sam's seen me naked. She's touched me naked. We've been spooning in the same bed since we were kids, this shouldn't even be that big of a deal. It's just a ... progression. Yeah, just, like, a natural development that shouldn't get my heart and my stomach all twisted into knots.

But it is.

Oh man.

Around five, my cellphone vibrates and I don't have to check to know it's Sam. I flip it open, my heart pushing itself in my throat.

_Be there in a few. Meet me in your room?_

It's followed by a winking smiley and I swear, I'm going to throw up out of nerves. I stumble upstairs and into my room, pacing back and forth to steady my breathing. In and out, Carly. It's just sex. It's just Sam. Nothing to freak out over. Oh, but what if I suck at it? What if I can't make her ... what do I even call it? What if I'm just really lousy in bed? God, that would be so embarrassing. I would rather die. I would prefer death to that. Oh my God, my cheeks are so hot you could fry eggs on them. I sit on the edge of the bed and put my head between my knees. Relax, I tell myself, but that only freaks me out more. Breathe. _Breathe_, before you go brain dead. Think about things that don't arouse you. Like Freddie. Oh, that's mean! Okay, plants, dirt, trucks, wrinkly old men ...

I hear the door close downstairs, Sam yelling, Spencer yelling back at her. And then her feet are on the stairs. I freak, standing up to unzip my pants. I kick them off, almost tripping over myself as I rip off my shirt. I fling the two garments into the closet, sprinting back to the bed. I've just pulled the covers under my arms when the door flies open. Sam emerges, hands behind her back, grinning at me.

I try to give a sexy smile, but my nerves make me twitch and fumble. "Hey," I say in the hopes of sounding smooth and cool and collected, like I'm not about to piss myself.

Sam perks her brows at me, pushing the door closed behind her. "Hello." She moves toward the bed slowly, her eyes flicking up and down me warily. "So, I told you I would make it up to you." She rolls on her toes and brings her hands around, a DVD case in each hand.

I blink at her.

"I went and rented two of your favorite movies. _The Notebook_ and _A Walk to Remember_." She holds each up as she announces the title. "And I know you know I like movies with blood and murder and screaming, but to make up for punching that douche in the face, I'm going to watch both of these lovey dovey movies with you. Without complaining."

My jaw literally drops, dangling under my face. I sit up a little bit, glancing between her and the movies. "What."

She blinks, wiggling the DVDs. "Did my generosity shock you into confusion? I'm going to watch sappy love movies with you."

"No, no. I mean, you're not, you didn't mean, earlier, you said, you, we're, I -"

"Don't hurt yourself, Carls."

I push my wrists in my eyes. "I am so stupid."

There's a long pause. I feel the blanket start to peel back. I lower my hands a little to see Sam peeking under the blanket, her eyebrows furrowed.

"...Are you naked?"

I clutch the blanket to my chest. "I have my bra and underwear on!"

Sam perches on the edge of the bed. "Okay, why are you in your undies?"

"I thought - you - I -" I huff loudly and throw the blankets over my head, burrowing into the pillow. My cheeks are a furious red, beating with my pulse. "I thought we were going to have sex!"

There's silence for a time in which I feel like jumping out the window, and then Sam starts snorting. I throw back the blanket and she's hunched over with her hands over her mouth, her face red as she all but howls with laughter. She rolls off the bed and onto the floor, knees to her chest, barking insanely loud.

Even my scalp is blushing. "Shut up!" I throw a pillow at her before hiding under the blankets again. She laughs for several minutes longer and every second that goes by sends me deeper and deeper into a sense of stupidity, my hands over my eyes.

"Carls."

The blanket lifts and then Sam's back is to my chest, her arm around my waist. I am such an idiot and I'm so embarrassed I don't even turn around, simply press my cheek into the pillow and wish I could become a part of the mattress.

"I'm sorry, Cupcake. It was funny. You're funny."

"It's embarrassing."

"It's cute." She pulls back my hair and her lips are on my cheek. "Besides, your idea is much better than mine. We can shag if you want."

I shiver and it's not at all due to the cold. "Don't say shag."

"Got it."

I sigh, rolling over to peer through the darkness. Her hand finds my cheek and her face coasts toward mine, lips brushing over my own. I tremble as she kisses me, cold fingers running over my hip. She flings the blanket back and rolls on top of me, weight settling nicely on my waist and her hair circling our faces like a halo. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth and she makes this soft noise in her throat that makes me gasp, my hands snaking to tangle in her hair. Her lips press hard against mine, her hands resting on my breasts. My body arches upward, our lips parting. I'm dizzy, the room spinning as she ducks to press a kiss to my neck. My lungs struggle but in a good way, her hands following the curves of my side, fingers pricking at the elastic of my panties.

"Wait." I take a deep breath as Sam rolls back, meeting my eyes. She looks hazy and unfocused and I feel the same way, but ... I just need a minute. Things can get heated really quickly between us and I just ... I want to slow it down a little. "How about tonight we just ... watch the movies, hm?"

It's not that I don't want it. I do. I want it more than anything and I'm so happy that I have someone like Sam to do it with. And I know that I don't have to rush it. I can have it whenever I'm ready.

Sam smiles at me, rolls to my side, and props her head up on one hand. "Sounds like a plan." She flicks her eyes down to my ... less than clothed body. "You gonna stay like that?"

I punch her shoulder. "Shush, you. Put _The Notebook _in."

* * *

**A/N:** _I enjoyed writing this, if you can't tell. Awkward sexy moments are the best, hm?_

_Leave reviews! They heal my mouth!_


	13. Chapter 13

**_|Sam|_**

God, I hate chick flicks. I mean, I really, really hate them. They're so stupid and so unrealistic and life just doesn't work that way. It makes girls believe that boys like, actually think without their dicks and that's just not true. Every boy thinks with their dicks. Boys love their dicks so much, that if they could, they'd probably use their dicks as spoons. They'd put necklaces on them or something.

But Carly, she loves these cheesy ass movies, and I'll tolerate the sappy romance if it makes her happy, even if it is so boring I'd rather do math. Besides, she's still in her bra and underwear, and if she's busy curled up next to me, sobbing her eyes out over a fictional character dying, then so be it if she remains unclothed. At some point, I must have decided my shirt was pointless because it's in a bundle on the floor and I'm just chillin' in my bra. What? It's not like Carly hasn't seen me naked before or something. Besides, clothes are redundant. You just end up taking them off anyway. I'm waiting for the day America becomes a nudist country. It would make everything so much easier.

Carly's squeezing my hand like her life is ending when the credits roll, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the comforter. I snort at her, her fist connecting solidly with my thigh.

"Ow!" I rub the spot and pout at her. The girl is really learning how to throw a punch. She smirks at me, running her fingers under her eyes again. She still seems a bit embarrassed about the whole sex mix up, which I have to bite my lip pretty hard to remind myself that laughing again would hurt her feelings. It was just ... it was hilarious. The look on her face when I whipped those movies out; people should put it on T-shirts. "You should kiss it. That really hurt, Shay."

She raises her eyebrows at me and suddenly the humor is gone and it's just ... man. Carly is good with sexy looks. She peels back the blanket slowly and slides in front of me, her legs on either side of my left. One hand plants on the outside of my thigh, the other between mine, and then she's leaning down, pressing her lips in a soft kiss right above my knee. It's such a platonic place on the body, and yet my entire frame does this very embarrassing and inconvenient shiver that catches her attention. She lifts her head slowly, sliding up my leg, eyes hovering over mine. And they're burning, the brown pools of her corneas smoldering like ashes and I'm on fire. It's like she's a match and I'm a flint and we're just going to explode if she doesn't kiss me soon enough.

I choose to remedy that.

I reach out, my hand hooking behind her neck and pull her forward almost harshly, our lips crushing against each other and this soft squeak vibrates against her lips that does very strange things to a particular part of my anatomy. My tongue rolls along the length of her lower lip and they part with a gasp that swallows in her throat and she tastes like toothpaste. Without really thinking about it, I'm moving on top of her, settling on her hips, tangling my fingers in her hair. The heat coursing through my veins pumps hard with my heart and thuds in my ears and then her cold hands are inching up my back and before I have a moment to pull my lips away from hers, she's plucked my bra off.

I lean back slightly, holding the garment to my chest as the strap falls free, meeting her eyes again. She looks dazed, her face flushed, lower lip wedged between her teeth.

"Yeah?" It's a question; is this okay? Can I do this? Because I know she's scared and I'm scared too, even though I'd never admit it, and I don't want to do anything to her that she's not ready for. It's weird giving someone that kind of control, letting someone see you like that. I mean, Carly's seen me as vulnerable as I get, but this is ... different. This is new. This is sex, and I'm trying not to think of it as a big deal but it really is. This is a whole new level of trust that so few people get to. Obviously people have sex all the time, but not everyone has what Carly and I have. Actually, we're rare, us. I've never seen people like us before.

She gnaws at her lip and jerks her eyes away and maybe I just want to give her a little push of persuasion - I pull my bra off and toss it to the floor and when I look back her eyes are glued to my chest. She reaches out, thumbs brushing my nipples and when I gasp she looks up at me in what seems like awe, her lips pulling into a smile.

"Yeah," she says, voice a whisper, and then her lips arrest mine. Her fingers brush tentatively over my breasts, cupping them, and the way her fingers flick against my nipples makes my entire spine turn to pudding. I break the kiss, panting, diving for her neck. Her hair smells like fruit and her skin tastes faintly like her pomegranate soap. She tilts her head, soft sounds coming from her throat as I attack it with my lips, my teeth. I tug at the skin over her pulsepoint and I can feel her heart beating furiously against my lips. My hands circle her torso, plucking the hooks of her bra one by one. She gets more and more tense, the anticipation causing her breathing to pick up and then the bra is gone and I'm pushing her on her back.

I take a minute to lean back, to really look down at her and I'm struck by just how ... just how beautiful she really is. My hands roam over the plane of her stomach, circle her nipples, and she's rolling against me like I'm driving her wild. The way her hair is splayed beneath her and the way her eyes are silently begging and the way her hands rest on my thighs and her fingers massage into my flesh makes me realize that this is the biggest thing Carly's ever done with someone, with anyone, and somewhere in the back of my mind is my mother's voice whispering, _"You're nothing. No one gives a shit about you."_

I meet Carly's eyes again. She's panting, waiting, swallowing hard and rubbing my thighs and I'm hot all over just by looking at her. But her eyes, the words are there, soft and kind and yeah, she gives a shit. A lot of shits.

I duck down, a look of determination on my face. I've never been this intimate with anyone before, but I've seen porn, I've seen movies, and I certainly know what makes me feel good, which means it can't be all that different with Carly. I press my lips to her sternum and when my breath fans out over her chest she shivers. My tongue leaves a wet trail behind it as I slide between her breasts, glancing up to see her staring down at me, cheeks flushed a bright red.

I flick my tongue over one taut nipple and it's like she seizes, her head falling back with a loud sound I didn't know Carly could make. I grin, almost smug as I do it again, and again, and every time Carly jerks and moans, her fingers curling in the sheets beside her. I latch onto the teased nipple, occasionally brushing my teeth over it, while my free hand walks up her leg and stomach, lightly pinching her opposite nipple.

It's so simple and yet Carly looks like she's about to explode, squirming on the bed with soft sounds of pleasure rising out of her parted lips. Her hips are shifting almost urgently and as much as I could sit here and tease her, I just can't bring myself to. I pull back finally, coasting down her midsection and curling my fingers around the elastic of her panties. She brings her head up, this sudden look of courage on her features as she lifts her hips up. I pluck the panties away, her legs folding as they're tossed to the floor, only for them to open again. I glance down at her briefly and the tiny curls of black hair are slick, but her fingers suddenly tangle in my hair and yank me forward before I have much time to examine it, a sound of surprise leaving me as she kisses me hard on the mouth. It's rare for Carly to be so dominant, but it's nice, and my eyes fall closed as she kisses me.

My hands follow the curves of her sides like roads and travel to her hips. She bucks at the sensation, her lips breaking apart from mine with a load moan, her head falling back against the mattress again. I marvel at her, the way she looks when pleasure is coursing through her, and before I really know what I'm doing, my hand is brushing between her legs. Carly erupts with a moan so loud she clamps a hand over her mouth. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm aware that Spencer is downstairs, but I don't want her holding back. I don't want her to feel self conscious about this. I reach up with my free hand and slowly peel her hand away, meeting her eyes once more. Her breath is coming out in short, choppy waves, swallowing as she meets my eyes.

"Don't be scared." I kiss her and my heart is burning in a way that can only mean good things and when I pull back she nods, taking a deep breath as my hand coasts toward her center again, my fingers teasing her lips. She gasps, clutching the sheets like she's afraid she'll fly away and she's wet, she's so wet and it kind of blows my mind for a minute that it's because of _me_, that's it's _me _that she's so willing and wanting for. When I finally brush her clitoris her back arches off the mattress, a series of words like 'oh my God' and 'oh Sam' coming out of her throat in a constant stream. I circle the sensitive nub, occasionally flicking my fingertip against it and every movement makes her shift her hips desperately and cling to the bed and cry out, a thin sheet of sweat shining on her face. I take a deep breath, watching her before I shift my fingers, and then I'm inside of her.

Another torturous gasp floods out of her lungs and muscles clamp around my finger as I move it inside of her, stroking her tight walls. Carly reaches out, her hands holding my shoulders like an anchor and she's trying to move, trying to flow with the thrusts of my finger but she's trembling so hard and her eyes are kind of rolling and, man. Man, oh man.

"S-Sam, oh -"

It's like music, watching her. The sounds building and building and her moans and words are the instruments and the way her body talks back to me is the lyrics. It's speaking in a way some inner part of me just understands, because I move faster and harder without her telling me and then there's the crescendo, the big build up and the loud crash and Carly's eyes squeeze shut as she cries out, her fingers sinking into the flesh of my shoulders and then she falls down, panting, limp, spent, exhausted.

And she's the most beautiful song I've ever heard.

I lay beside her, pull the blankets to her shoulders and tell her to sleep. I don't want anything in return, not now; today is her symphony, and I'm just glad I got to hear it.

* * *

**A/N:** _Sorry it took a couple of days for this! I was thrown back into school and that just fucks with everything, but I should be back to posting semi-regularly with this._

_So, did you like it? Are you all hot and bothered? If you are, tell me. That means I did my job. _


	14. Chapter 14

_**|Carly|**_

I wake up warm.

Sam's heartbeat is in my ear, bump-bumping a steady rhythm that I listen to like music as I start to fade back into consciousness. Her arm is draped over my middle. I can feel the soft exhale of her breath against my hair. I'm naked. She's mostly naked. The blanket is tucked under our arms, our legs are tangled, and somehow I start thinking about how I don't know where she starts and where I end and I couldn't be more happier about that. She's warm and solid beside me and my chest expands with this wonderful flood of feelings only a poet could really describe, and I'm just not that good with words.

I let her sleep. I don't move, I just rest against her, feel her, listen to her, smell her, and remember. I remember the way she touched me last night, the hesitance and the bravery that rooted themselves firmly in her aqua eyes, I remember the way she kissed me, traced me, memorized me. Is it cliche and stupid and Disney-like to say that everything she did, every breath, every brush of her fingers was _magical_? I don't even care. I don't. Out of all the words in the English language, magical is the only thing that even comes close.

My eyes flutter closed as I remember the way her fingers felt between my legs and my breath hitches at the memory alone; every nerve had ended in fire, every stroke of her fingers burning me and I didn't care if we both had burst into flames. It sounds silly, but there was no time, it was just ... like, eternity. Eternity with Sam, and I really couldn't ask for anything else.

Finally, eventually, I move. I slowly slip backward, but her arm tightens around my waist and pulls me forward again. I smile, my lips ghosting across her neck. She smells like home.

She stretches then, making these soft noises of wakening and then she's curling her arms over her head. I roll away from her for a moment and just watch her, just really ... look at her. Sam's beautiful in the way most people overlook because she's so intimidating, but I can see all of her. I always have. Like, the way her hair tumbles down her shoulders in thick golden waves, and the way her muscles flex when she moves even the slightest bit, and I adore the freckles on her back that if you connected them with marker they'd make a lopsided star and I like the scars on the palms of her hands from falling off her bike a hundred times and identical ones on her knees and I like the 'c' shaped birthmark right above her bellybutton and then it just hits me out of nowhere that this is what being in love feels like.

I prop my head up on my hand and watch her steadily rejoin the living world, her arm crooked over her eyes. I bite my lip, letting my eyes slowly travel the length of her body, following the lines and curves until they disappear under the blanket and maybe it's because last night is still so fresh in my mind, but I just want to touch her. I want her to feel half the pleasure I did last night. I want her to feel all of the things I can't possibly say.

I slip closer to her again, draping one leg over her waist. Her eyes flutter open at that, blue eyes foggy as they dance over my face before closing again, her hands raising to rub at them furiously. "Time is it?"

I don't know, and I don't care, and with Sam this close to me with no bra on and only a pair of panties keeping her away from me, I'm not about to turn around and look.

"Time for me to return the favor." I press two fingers against her stomach and slowly walk up her torso.

She's certainly awake now. She blinks down at me, propping herself upon her elbows, a slender, blonde brow arching. "For?"

"Last night." I smile up at her, my hand trailing the rest of the way to her chin and holding it in place as I bring my lips to hers. She's soft and warm and as I pull back I move on top of her, straddling her hips. "It was ... just ... great. I mean, spectacular." My cheeks are burning, but I push the general discomfort aside. This is Sam. I have nothing to be embarrassed about.

She smiles, smug, her hands resting on my thighs. "I have a Ph.D. in love making, you know."

I laugh, leaning down to kiss her again. And it doesn't matter if I kiss her just like this ten times a day for the rest of my life - every time her lips claim mine, it's like the first time. There's that same rush, that thrill, the rush of my heart in my ears. Sam's just someone I will never be bored of. That's why we're so much different from everyone else. I love Freddie, but I couldn't live with him every day. I'd kill him. Or he'd kill me. But with Sam, it's different. It's always been different. Special, even, and that's why I suddenly believe in the art of fate.

She breaks the kiss and smiles up at me, her hands resting on my sides. "You don't have to do this -"

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to." I kiss her jaw and float over her cheek and then down her neck. She hitches beneath me, my hands fluttering over her sides. She's warm and goosebumps follow my fingers and I glance up, meeting her eyes and her cheeks are flushed with this odd, weird glow. I smile up at her, my lips ghosting over her collarbone.

"I love you, Sam." I kiss her shoulder and she shivers and I wonder how she could ever possibly feel so strongly for me that her bones would actually tremble at my touch, but I'm glad. I'm more than glad. I'm euphoric. I'm in love. My heart pounds as her hands curl around my cheeks and yank me up, the force of the kiss knocking the breath right out of me. She kisses me almost desperately, pulling back only briefly to breathe and then crashing her lips on mine again. I let her. I let her because it feels like she's trying to wash something away and replace it with me and she needs to do that for reasons I can only kind of understand.

She finally stops, panting, and I meet her dazed eyes for a moment before I coast down her naked chest again. I take her nipples between my fingers and she rolls against me, her spine rising and falling and then I'm kissing my way down her stomach. Her skin is hot and flushed and bumps of anticipation follow my lips, leading a trail down to her bellybutton. I kiss the 'c' shaped birthmark I loe so much and glance up, Sam's arms spread on the mattress, her mouth open, and as I flick my tongue against her navel she releases this strangled sound and it's weird, knowing I can do this to her with such little effort. Weird, but so nice.

I slip my hand under the elastic of her panties and over the tuft of blonde hair between her legs and touch her, really touch her, and she's hot and wet. Her thighs are trembling on either side of me in their effort to remain still, and from above me I hear a strangled, "Carly -"

She raises her hips and I take the hint, curling my fingers around the elastic and easing the garment down her legs. I fling it to the floor and kiss her thighs, the shaking flesh shifting at the teasing touches of my lips. I trace her with my fingers, up and down, memorizing her, and then I let the tip of my finger brush her clitoris and she shakes and tears at her lips with her teeth.

And then I'm inside of her and she's crying out for God like she's waiting to be saved, though I think He'd probably frown upon this. Muscles clench and her hips buck as I move my finger in and out of her, my lips kissing at her thighs as she tries to grind downward. She moans behind the back of her hand as I slip another finger inside easily, and then I lean down and run my tongue along the throbbing source of her pleasure and she nearly screams.

I'm flushed and wet and on fire just watching her, smelling her, tasting her, feeling her tight walls against my fingers. I hook my lips around her clitoris and flick my tongue against it, pumping my fingers in and out of her in an unforgiving pace. Her fingers coil in the sheets, my name mixed in with wanton moans and cries for God. And then she's building and building and gasping and hitching and then there's the crash, the boom, and I swear it's like cymbals beating off each other.

I sit up, slip my fingers out of her and wipe her essence on the sheets. A part of me used to be so disgusted, or at least, apprehensive about things like this, but now it's just ... it's just beautiful, the way Sam's a shuddering mass of muscle and bone and skin on the mattress, looking up at me like I'm some sort of Goddess that gave her the greatest gift. I lean down. I kiss her. She says she loves me against my lips.

* * *

**A/N: **_I apologize for the amount of time it took me to get this up - my life is currently school, school, school, and yeah, school._

_You should review, though, because those are the extra push to make me get stuff up faster. _


	15. Chapter 15

_**|Sam|**_

"Mulan is obviously the most badass Disney girl. She pretended to be a man and was _better _than the men, might I point out -"

"Yeah, but Pocahontas was all about peace and getting along -"

"And Mulan was like 'fuck that' and whooped Hun ass."

Carly huffs at me, arms crossed, sticking her chin up in a snootish matter. "I still think Pocahontas is the best."

I stare at her for a minute, wrapped up in her blanket on the other end of the couch and I suddenly realize that she's, well, on the other end of the couch and not buried in my arms. I glance at Mulan on the television before shifting my eyes back to her, unable to come up with a comeback more impressive than "_You're_ the best."

Carly laughs, taking the pillow out from under her arm and throwing it in my direction. I very promptly slam it with much more force back at her, which quickly results in her snagging a pillow of her own and the two of us banging it into each other, with exclaims of "No, you!" tossed back and forth. Somehow, I mange to get on top of her, my hands clawing at her sides. She explodes in giggles, squirming under my hands. I wrestle the pillow out of her hands and grin down at her, leaning down to steal her laughing lips in a kiss.

Kissing Carly should be an Olympic sport or something. I should get a gold medal for this, because the fight just dies out of her, and she snakes her arms around my neck and kisses me and a heat that is slowly becoming very familiar to me is pooling in my stomach. I drop the pillow and run my hands up her chest, feeling her hitch beneath me as I skim over her breasts, tangling my fingers in her strands of brown hair. She pants against my mouth, jerking her head over the arm of the couch with a worried crease in her brow.

"Spencer's sleeping."

I follow her eyes in the direction of Spencer's room, shrugging. We haven't told him about the, er, recent development in our relationship ... or anything about our new relationship. Carly's been hesitant to tell him. She's afraid that he'll try and separate us and that just ... wouldn't do, in light of certain things. Like, you know, how much we enjoy lounging about naked because it makes for much quicker interactions.

I grin mischievously down at her, raising my eyebrows. "Hm, indeed he is. Nice observation, Shay. You don't want to wake him up, do you?" I push my knee forward, caressing her between her thighs. She gasps before biting hard on her bottom lip, giving a quick shake of her head.

"Sam, this is incredibly not fair -"

"I never said I was fair." My hands float down her chest again, teasing the hem of her shirt. My fingers crawl up the shuddering mass of her stomach, her chest hitching under my touches, and it still kind of wows me that she could possibly react this greatly to someone like me, but here she is.

I'm about to dive into her pants when my phone explodes on the coffee table. I give Carly a look that says 'this isn't over' as I lean away from her, snatching the phone from the table and pressing 'talk' without glancing at the screen. I press it to my ear, giving Carly a narrowed look. She grins at me in triumph, straightening her shirt and turning her attention back to Mulan on the screen.

"This better be important, whoever you are, because I was in the middle of something."

There's silence for a minute. I wait, my brow furrowing. I'm about to hang up when I hear a shuffle and then a heavy, hard breath. "Sam?"

I pause. The voice is scratchy and tired. I glance at the clock. It's nearly ten at night. It isn't occurring to me until now how odd it is that someone would be calling me this late. "Obviously. This would be my number."

There's another shuffle followed by a heavy sigh, and then, "It's me."

And she doesn't have to clarify because I know who it is just by the way the voice sounds, the way she reluctantly admits who she is, the way I can tell she'd rather be doing anything but making this phone call right now. I just stare blankly at the television, the colors whirling in front of me but not having shape or sound and all I can hear is the building boom of my heart in my ears, and somewhere beyond it is "Sam? Hello, Samantha?"

"What?" I snap back into the receiver, feeling my lungs shudder as I snap back to the present. I can feel Carly's eyes on me so I stand, waving at her as I scurry into the neighboring kitchen and pressing my back against the bar. I rub at my forehead and try to keep myself together - I thought she was gone, I thought she was out of the picture forever. I replaced everything terrible with everything wonderful. But her voice ticks off this sense of alarm, this spark of fear, and now the flames are scorching up my spine.

"I'm in jail. I only got one phone call. I didn't have anyone else to call."

I'm surprised she even knows my cellphone number. She doesn't even know my birthday. I stare at the kitchen floor and take a deep breath, letting it out through my nose before I start talking. "What a waste of a phone call."

"Don't be a bitch."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. That, coming from the woman who smashed a bottle over my head. "What do you expect me to do, bail you out?"

There's a long pause. I glance over my shoulder and see Carly, one hand under her chin, the other twirling her hair as she watches me. I fake a smile at her and hold up my finger. I can't talk to this woman much longer. I can't ... she's not my mom. She's not what a mother should have been to me. But hearing her voice, it brings back all of these things I'd rather soon forget, slamming into my brain and I just ... I have to sit down. I slump to the kitchen table and plop heavily on the chair, my free hand winding it's way through my bangs.

"No. I didn't expect you to pick up. I didn't expect your phone to even be working anymore."

I rub at my eyes. "I'm staying with the Shays. They're ... helping me. Until I turn eighteen."

"You're not eighteen yet?"

Case and point.

"No." I drum my fingers on the table and peer into the darkness of the kitchen. My heart is still pounding. I can't believe I'm actually hearing her voice again. I almost ... I almost kind of miss it, but not in the way you'd expect. I don't miss her, but I do kind of miss just knowing I had a mom. Even if she was drunk and in a blinding rage half the time and drunk and passed out the other half, she was there. Melanie had her smarts and school and I had Mom. She was a monster, but she was _my _monster.

"What do you want, Mom?" I speak softly, my body hunching over the table and my hand cupped around my mouth because I don't want Carly to hear this, I don't want her to worry about any of this shit.

"They caught me with heroin. I'm going to prison."

I shut my eyes. "They're going to hit you with child abuse, too."

"I didn't abuse you."

I slam a fist I didn't know I had made onto the kitchen table, sitting up so fast the chair screeches behind me. "Like you fuck you didn't."

"It's not my fault you were a fucking bitch all the time -"

"A bitch? You're my mother!" My voice is building and I can't stop it, my arms trembling as I hover over the table and I know Carly can hear me, can feel her hovering over my shoulder in the threshold of the kitchen but I don't look back, I just clutch the phone and scream. "You're supposed to love me and take care of me! You're supposed to be an adult and take responsibility and _be there for me_, but what did you do? You cracked a bottle over my head and disappeared and left me alone and bleeding on the fucking sidewalk."

I feel like I ran a marathon, my body sagging down into my chair again. I pant heavily into the phone, feel the rage perspire on my palms. There's just silence on the other end, the distant ruffling of footsteps behind her, and then there's a hard and heavy exhale, like I'm some insolent child she can't get under control.

"Goodbye, Sam."

And then there's a click and then nothing.

The phone slides to the tabletop. I stare at it, blinking slowly, a wall of tears slipping down my cheeks and onto my hands. I push the heels of my palms into my eyes and try to breathe, but my lungs forgot how and then Carly's arms are snaking around my neck from behind me, her lips on my ear. She's talking, but I'm not listening because I was never one to wallow in self pity but I thought that I deserved more than this, that I was worth more than the shit that was handed to me. I'm not the best person in the world and I know that more than anyone, but why, why was I saddled with this pathetic excuse for a human?

"It's okay, Sam."

The anger floods out of my hands like a waterfall and I relax against the back of the chair and it makes sense, then, why I had someone like my mom as a mother.

Because it meant finding Carly. It meant staying with Carly. It meant being with Carly.

I reach up, my fingers brushing along the hairs of her arm and then I'm turning around, standing up and meeting her eyes. She's crying more than I am, her brow eyes ringed with red, and then I'm reaching up and holding her cheeks and kissing her hard on the mouth, our tears making the kiss sloppy and wet. I push her into the bar behind her, her hands splaying across my chest. My heart burns, pumping fire into my veins and it hurts, it hurts my mom is like that, but knowing I have _this _to counter it will always be better.

And people spend their entire lives searching for what I have with her and I'm lucky, I'm blessed to be one of the few that actually find it.

"I love you." The words spill out of both of us as I kiss her against the bar, her hands under my shirt, mine under the elastic of her shorts. She pants in my ear, biting her lip to muffle the sounds coming from her throat. Her legs are trembling, fighting to keep herself up, and then she's biting the collar of my shirt to keep herself from crying out. She shudders against me, my hands slick with her, the flesh of my ribs pulsing where her fingernails carved crescent moons into it.

_Goodbye Sam._

Goodbye, Mom. Hello, Carly.

* * *

**A/N:** _I believe I will dedicate one more chapter to this story, and after that ... who knows? Maybe a sequel? What do you think?_

_The next chapter should be up tomorrow if not the day after, but you should definitely review in the meantime! It makes me all happy and stuff. Plus, I'd love to hear your ideas on where I should take this next!_


	16. Chapter 16

_**|Carly|**_

"Don't be such a baby, Puck."

Sam pouts at me. "You don't have any room to talk, Carls. You haven't so much as scraped your knees since you were seven years old."

I lift a finger to prove her wrong with some elaborate story of how I'm not a guarded little child, only for my hand to fall back into my lap in defeat. "So."

She sticks her tongue out at me which I very quickly put to better use, crawling across the bed to plant my mouth on hers. It's a lot more fun than I can ever explain, really. I never knew Sam was such a fantastic kisser. It came as a bit of a shock to me, actually. She melts against me, her hands holding my elbows and rolling over me. Nice, hot weight settles on my hips and she's on top of me, her lips breaking mine only to rain down on my neck. A gasp I can't control rattles out of my chest my body trembling with anticipation as her tongue rolls over the flesh of my neck, a sensitive spot I never knew I had. It's not even fair the things this blonde does to me. Her fingers crawl under the hem of my shirt, an almost inaudible "Oh," leaving my lungs.

Sam pauses, flicking her eyes up at me. "Hm?"

I take a breath that hitches somewhere in my throat. "Well, don't _stop_."

Sam's lips curl into a smile. "Well, aren't we just -" her finger circles my navel, "-impatient."

The fabric inches up farther, Sam's hands following the slope of my sides. I try to breathe, but it's looking pretty impossible to manage at this point. "Tell me again why we -oh, why we waited so long to do this ...?" I reach down, curling a finger around the edge of my shirt in a haste to pull it up. Sam's fingers close tightly around my wrist, pushing it aside.

"Maybe because I was convinced you liked dick?" She ducks her head and I can feel her breath rush out, hot and unsteady against my bellybutton. "Freddie's been all but humping your leg for the past forever." She takes her slow, torturous time up my torso, her teeth eventually closing on the edge of my shirt. I stare down at her, my chest struggling to maintain normal breathing capacity.

"Why do you think I - unh, why I kept breaking up with all of my boyfriends -" Sam's lips are on my stomach, her fingers shifting my shirt up and up and my voice dies off because the sensations assaulting my system make speech a more than difficult thing to manage.

"Because I'm so irresistible?"

My shirt is just under my bra now, her tongue crawling with my body. I roll upward, unable to help myself, my back arching and aching for her to touch me more, harder, somewhere else, particularly. "You think rather - unh, highly of yourself, don't you?"

"Well, with the way you're reacting, I'd say I have good reason."

I reach down to playfully swat at her, only for her fingers to once more noose around my wrist and halt it. She crawls up my chest and finds my mouth, the words I had been planning to say dissolving away when her tongue meets mine. Man, really, why hadn't we indulged in this stuff before? My heart speeds to crazy levels like it's trying to burst out of my chest to meet hers, my hands reaching up to close around her shoulders. Sam tastes like toothpaste with a hint of ham in there and let me tell you, it doesn't suck. She pulls back, my head spinning, her fingers once more resuming their ascent up my shirt -

A knock pounds on the door. "You guys ready?"

Sam blinks, her eyes foggy as she turns her eyes to the door. "What?"

"You forgot already?" Not that I have much room to talk - I almost forgot myself. I sit up, my shirt reluctantly falling down my stomach. "Your stitches?"

Sam frowns, reaching up to carefully touch the back of her head. "Oh, yeah. I got distracted when your clothes started coming off."

I give a breathless chuckle and take her hand, ignoring her protests and dragging her out of the bed. My knees are shaking, but I manage to get out of the apartment in one piece. Sam stays close to my side, Spencer shooting us mysterious glances over his shoulder. I'm sure he'll figure it out sooner or later - or I'll just have to tell him. It's not like he's going to lose himself if - _when _I do. I look at Sam to my left and squeeze her hand, her eyes lighting up in a way that makes my heart flutter. I mean, now that everything is so blatantly obvious and bold and staring me in the face, it makes sense that I'm ... that I love... that I'm _in _love with Sam. I've always been, it just took me - us - a long time to figure it out.

We drive to the hospital with my hand in Sam's lap, her fingers tracing circles around the back of my hand.

"It's gonna hurt," she mumbles, pouting at me again. She leans her head on my shoulder and I squeeze her hand, turning my head so my lips are in her hair.

"What did I say about being a baby, Puck?"

She lands a solid punch into my knee, only to squeeze it in a tickling fashion, hence why I burst into loud giggles. Spencer's eyes dart to the review mirror and I can see the accusation in his eyes, the calculating look in on his face. Spencer's not stupid. He'll figure it out on his own, not that that's the center of my worries right now - I shove Sam into the door of the car as she continues to tickle my knees, trying to dive for my sides.

"Sam, you fart!"

" 'Bitch' would have been more appropriate -"

"Shut up!" I squirm and squeal as she grabs my sides, and it isn't until Spencer twists in his seat and swats Sam away that she stops, biting the inside of her cheek as her hand slips into my thigh. We swing into the parking lot of the hospital and Sam doesn't detach herself from me until we're in the lobby when they call her name.

"Want me to come with you and hold your hand?" I tease as she slips away from me, flipping me a lovely finger gesture before disappearing with the nurse. I sigh, rubbing my empty hands together as I follow Spencer to the orange, plastic chairs lining the cream-colored walls of the lobby. I feel Spencer's eyes on me before I see them, turning slowly to steal a peek at my older brother. His eyes are confused, his mouth opening and closing several times before he gives up, a huff leaving him.

"Yes," I say. "Whatever you're thinking, yes."

"You and Sam ...?"

I smile, reaching up to rub at my lips. "Yeah."

I study the floor for a moment, letting the silence hang between us. I know Spencer loves me no matter what, and I know he'd never do anything drastic, like kick Sam out or something, but I don't ... I don't want him thinking of her any differently. She's still Sam. She's the same Sam he's known since she was five. She's just as important to him as she is to me. And I don't want him thinking of me any different, either. I don't want the 'you're too young' speech. I know I'm young, but that's one of the most beautiful things about Sam and I. We're young and in love and it's real and it's going to last forever, and that much I know for sure.

I hear him sigh beside me. I flick my eyes carefully to the side, my body tensing up like a spring.

"I figured," he says, turning his eyes to me with a tight grin.

I stick my tongue out at him, leaning over to rest my head on his shoulder. The relief is flooding, my eyes closing as a pleasant smile warms up on my face. He wraps an arm around me. I'm lucky. I mean, I'm really lucky to have Spencer as my brother, to have Sam as my best friend, to have her as a ... lover. I shiver as the word works its way down my spine, a smile I can't stifle coming to my lips. I trace it with my fingers.

"It doesn't bug you?" I twist, meeting my brother's eyes. He shrugs, shaking his head.

"Not really. At least, this way, I don't have to worry about you getting knocked up. Can you imagine the horrors a little Carly would bring?"

I punch him solidly in the shoulder. I'm learning from Sam. "Oh, shove it."

Spencer smiles, bringing me closer by the shoulders. "Really, though. I'm happy for you guys. Sam's ... her life's been really messed up. You're probably the only good thing about it."

I frown slightly. I know what he means. Sam's life has been incredibly rocky. She never knew her dad and then her mom suddenly bails ... it isn't fair. And after last night, with the phone call ...

I close my eyes briefly and remember the utter pain in her eyes, something I'm so not used to seeing in Sam. She was torn up and just ... just so sad. I couldn't stand it. I can't stand thinking about it now. I push the image away, instead focusing on the part where Sam kissed me, pushing her past behind her and putting me in front of her. That was the important part here - that Same didn't let her mom ruin her life when she was no longer a part of it.

She doesn't deserve it. Maybe no one else sees it but me and Spencer, but Sam doesn't deserve all the poo that happens to her. She's kind and gentle and caring and sweet and maybe her exterior is rough and calloused, but that's only because it had to be or she would have never survived this long. But it's almost comforting to know that I bring her something good, even if it isn't much. I give her a place to go, hands to hold, a shoulder to cry on whenever she needs it. And I'm never going anywhere. I don't care about what kids say at school, I don't care if being with her puts obstacles in front of me ... she's my best friend, she's everything to me and she's worth anything I have to do to keep her. "I love her," I say, and Spencer squeezes my shoulder.

"Me too, kiddo."

Sam emerges a few minutes later, smiling in triumph. I fold her into my arms as Spencer moves to the desk to talk to the nurse. I brush my lips against the line of her ear, just marveling at the way her body fits against mine, the smell of her, the familiar curve of her back as my hands settle in the dip.

She's fragile. I'm fragile. But we keep each other from breaking.

"That's the last time your mom will ever hurt you," I whisper, her arms tightening around my waist. "I promise."

She sighs, her breath ruffling my hair. "I love you, Carls."

"I love you, too."

* * *

**A/N:** _And there you have it, the final installment of "Fragile". I do hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ... your reviews were just wonderful and really gave me inspiration, I thank all of you who took the time to leave feedback :)_

_As for a sequel ... I'm still undecided. I'd like any ideas in the form of a review or a PM if you like! Any suggestions are welcome!_


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